A 

LITTLE  TOUR  IN  IRELAND 

BEING 

A    VISIT    TO    DUBLIN,    GALWAY,    CONNAMARA,    ATHLONE^ 

LIMERICK,    KILLARNEY,    GLENGARRIFF, 

CORK,    ETC.,    ETC. 


BY 


AN    OXONIAN     f)    \ 

S.  to.  /f  fa 

•*J 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  JOHN  LEECH 


"  By  suffering  worn  and  weary, 
But  beautiful  as  some  fair  angel  yet." 


NEW  YORK 

W.  S.  GOTTSBERGER  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

II   MURRAY   STREET 

1891 


REPRINTED    FROM   LONDON    EDITION    OF    1859 


WITH    SINCERE    RESPECT   AND    LOVE 


is  iiook 


IS   DEDICATED    BY   THE    AUTHOR 

TO 
HIS    BEST    AND    DEAREST    FRIEND 


HIS  FATHER 


2060735 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I. — PREFATORY, I 

IF. TO    DUBLIN, 8 

III. DUBLIN, 14 

IV. FROM    DUBLIN    TO    OALWAY 33 

V. THE    FAMINE, 45 

VI. FROM    GALWAY    TO    OUGHTERARDE, 51 

VII. CONNAMARA, 60 

VIII. CLIFDEN, 70 

IX. KYLEMOKE 79 

X.  —  FROM     KYLEMOKE    To    GAEVVAV 99 

XI. FROM     C.ALWAV    TO     LIMF.KK'K, 1 09 

XII. J.IMEKICK 122 

XIII. KILLAKNEY, I  2.S 

XIV. KILLAKNEY, 137 

XV. KILLARNKY, 156 

XVI.  —  FROM     KILLARNKY    TO    GLENGARRIFF, 170 

XML GLENGARRIFF, l8o 

XVIII. FROM    GLENGARR1FF    To     fOKK, 185 

XIX. CORK, 196 

XX. BLARNEY, 203 

XXI. FROM    DUBLIN    HOMEWARD, 215 


LITTLE  TOUR  IN  IRELAND. 


CHAPTER   I. 


PREFATORY. 

THERE  are  two  species  of  Undergraduates,  the  Fast 
and  the  Slow.  I  am  now  of  the  former  persuasion. 
Originally,  having  promised  my  relations  that  I  would  take 
a  Double  First-Class  and  most  of  the  principal  prizes,  I 
was  associated  with  the  latter  brotherhood,  but  was  soon 
compelled  to  secede,  and  to  sue  for  a  separation,  a  mensd 
et  thoro,  their  tea-table  and  early  rising,  on  the  plea  of 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


incompatibility  of  temper.  One  young  gentleman,  who 
described  himself  as  being  very  elect  indeed,  candidly  told 
me  that,  unless  my  sentiments  with  reference  to  bitter 
beer  and  tobacco  underwent  a  material  change,  he  could 
give  me  no  hope  of  final  happiness ;  and  another  impec- 
cable party,  with  a  black  satin  stock  and  the  bandiest  legs 
in  Oxford,  felt  himself  solemnly  constrained  to  mention, 
that  he  could  not  regard  horse-exercise  as  at  all  consistent 
with  a  saving  faith.  I  spoke  of  St.  George  (though  I 
dared  not  say  that  I  had  met  him  at  Astley's),  of  St. 
Denis,  and  St.  Louis,  of  the  Crusaders,  and  the  Red  Cross 
Knight ;  but  he  only  replied  that  I  was  far  gone  in  idolatry, 
and  he  lent  me  the  biography  of  the  Reverend  T.  P. 
Snorker,  which,  after  describing  that  gentleman's  conver- 
sion at  a  cock-fight,  with  the  sweet  experiences  of  his 
immaculate  life,  and  instituting  a  comparison  between  his 
preaching  and  that  of  St.  Paul  (a  trifle  in  favour  of 
Snorker),  finally  declared  him  to  be  an  angel,  and  bade  all 
mankind  adore,  and  reverence,  and  buy  his  sermons  at 
seven-and-six.  When  I  returned  the  publication,  and  told 
him  that,  though  I  had  been  highly  entertained,  I  liked 
the  Life  of  George  Herbert  better,  he  called  me  a 
hagiologist  (a  term  which  struck  me  as  being  all  the  more 


PREFATORY. 


offensive,  inasmuch  as  I  had  no  idea  of  its  meaning),*  and 
murmured  something  about  "  the  mark  of  the  beast," 
whereupon,  I  regret  to  confess,  that  I  so  far  lost  my 
temper  as  to  address  him  with  the  unclassical  epithet  of 
"  a  young  Skunk,"  suggesting  the  expediency  of  his 
immediate  presence  at  Jericho,  and  warning  him,  that,  if 
he  were  not  civil,  "  the  beast "  might  leave  a  "  mark " 
upon  him.  That  very  day,  I  wrote  to  the  butler  at  home, 
to  send  up  my  pink  and  tops,  and  "  went  over  to  roam  "  in 
happier  pastures. 

I  find  them  more  healthful  also.  I  find  that  so  far 
from  my  perception  of  right  and  wrong  being  destroyed, 
as  the  disciples  of  Snorker  prophesied,  by  a  gallop  after 
the  Heythrop  hounds,  and  my  appreciation  of  Thucydides 
being  expelled  by  my  morning  pipe,  I  have,  mentally  and 
bodily,  a  better  tone ;  and  though  my  former  condiscipuli 
groan  when  they  meet  me  coming  in  from  the  chase,  as 
though  I  were  the  scarlet  lady  herself,  I  still  venture  to 
appear  at  chapel,  and  will  back  myself  to  construe  the 
funeral  oration  of  Pericles  against  the  ugliest  of  the  lot. 

*  "  Egan,  in  addressing  a  jury,  having  exhausted  every  ordinary  epithet  of 
abuse,  stopt  for  a  word,  and  then  added,  '  this  naufrageous  ruffian.'  When  after- 
wards asked  the  meaning  of  the  word,  he  confessed  he  did  not  know,  but  said  '  he 
thought  it  sounded  well.'  " — Sketches  of  the  Irish  Bar,  vol.  i.  p.  83. 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IX    IRELAND. 


Oh,  that  fox-hunting  were  the  worst  enemy  to  me,  a 
student,  for  I  might  be  a  class  man  still  !  But  I  have  con- 
tracted a  habit  desperately  antagonistic  to  literature, — / 
am  always  falling  in  love.-  The  moment  I  see  a  pretty 
face,  I  feel  that  sort  of  emotion  which  Sidney  Smith  used 
to  say  the  late  Bishop  of  London  rejoiced  to  contemplate 
in  his  clergy,  "a  kind  of  drop-down-deadness."  I  cannot 
walk  out,  or  drive  out,  or  ride,  or  row  out,  but  I  am  sure 
to  have  an  attack.  I  have  had  as  many,  indeed,  as  two  in 
one  day.  With  the  daughters  of  Deans  and  Presidents, 
with  visitors,  with  ladies  come  in  from  the  country  to 
shop,  I  am  perpetually  and  passionately  in  love.  I  don't 
like  it,  because  there  is  not  the  most  remote  probability  of 
my  ever  exchanging  six  syllables  with  these  objects  of  my 
devoted  affection,  not  to  mention  that  they  are  equally 
beloved  by  some  three  or  four  hundred  rivals ;  but  I  am 
powerless  to  oppose ;  I  can't  help  it.  My  life  is  an" 
everlasting  "dream  of  fair  women  :"  I  know  it  is  a  dream, 
but  I  cannot  waken. 

Others  have  roused  me,  though,  and  most  uncom- 
fortably. I  heard  a  Devonshire  girl,  whom  I  met  at  a 
wedding  breakfast,  and  with  whom  I  thought  I  was 
progressing  favourably,  whispering  to  her  neighbour 


PREFATORY. 


"  This  tipsy  child  is  becoming  a  nuisance,  and  I  really 
must  ring  for  nurse,"  when  I  was  as  sober  as  Father 
Matthew,  and  had  whiskers  of  considerable  beauty,  if 
viewed  in  an  advantageous  light.  Still  more  sadly  and 
recently,  another  "  daughter  of  the  gods,  divinely  fair,"  dis- 
sipated Love's  young  dream,  and  sent  me  forth  to  a  foreign 
land  to  forget  my  sorrows,  as,  indeed,  I  immediately  did. 

The  catastrophe,  which  caused  our  happy  days  in  Ire- 
land, befel  as  follows. 

"  'Twas  in  the  prime  of  summer  time,  an  evening  calm 
and  cool,"  that  I  found  myself  wandering  among  the 

shrubberies  of Castle  with  a  most  lovely  girl.  A 

large  picnic  party  had  been  enlivened  by  archery  and 
aquatics,  and  I  fancy  that  the  glare  of  some  new  targets, 
and  the  sheen  of  the  "  shining  river,"  had  not  only  dazzled 
my  eyes,  but  likewise  had  bewildered  my  brain.  In  spite 
of  the  cooling  beverages,  the  cobblers  and  the  cups,  I  was 
actuated  by  an  extraordinary  liveliness.  I  sang  songs  for 
the  company,  not  quite  reaching  the  high  notes,  but  with 
intense  feeling,  doing  all  in  my  power  to  indicate  to  the 
lovely  girl  that  she  was  my  Annie  Laurie,  and  that  for  her 
I  should  consider  it  a  pleasant  gymnastic  exercise  to 
expire  in  a  recumbent  position.  I  made  felicitous  altera- 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


tions  in  the  words,  such  as  "  hazel  is  her  e'e  "  for  "  dark- 
blue;"  and  in  the  song  of  "  Constance,"  instead  of  "I  lay 
it  as  the  rose  is  laid  on  some  immortal  shrine,"  I  contrived, 
with  immense  difficulty,  and  by  means  of  a  terrific 
apoggiatura,  to  substitute  the  word  stephanotis,  of  which  I 
had  that  morning  given  her  a  bouquet.  But  "  brevis  esse 
laboro  /"  we  were  alone,  and  I  resolved  to  propose. 
I  seized  her  elbow  with  both  hands,  a  ridiculous  position, 
but  I  was  very  nervous,  and  was  about  to  ask  the 
momentous  question,  when  she  said  with  such  a  tone 
of  gentle  pity  as  took  away  half  the  pain,  "  Philip,  I 
am  engaged  to  Lord  Evelyn.  Shall  we  go  back  for 
coffee?"  I  seconded  the  motion,  but  oh,  what  an  amaz- 
ing period  of  time  we  seemed  to  occupy  in  carrying  our 
proposition  out !  The  first  idea  which  presented  itself  to 
my  mind  was  suicide,  but  it  met  with  an  unfavourable 
reception ;  the  second,  to  enlist  immediately,  and  to  secure 
the  earliest  coup-de-soleil  possible ;  the  third,  to  insult 
Lord  Evelyn  (the  beast  was  at  Christ  Church,  and  I  knew 
him),  and  subsequently  to  shoot  him  in  Port-Meadow. 
"  What  right  had  he,"  I  asked  myself,  "  to  anticipate  me, 
and  win  her  heart  ?  I  hate  these  accursed  aristocrats,  who 
suck  the  life-blood  of  the  people." 


PREFATORY. 


This  is  the  accursed  aristocrat  who  sucks  the  life-blood 
of  the  people  ! 

At  last,  we 
rejoined  the  par- 
ty, and  found 
them  talking  the 
silliest  rubbish 
conceivable,  and 
apparently  en- 
joying the  nas- 
tiest coffee  I  ever 
remember  to 
have  drunk. 

That  night, 
and  at  the  witch- 
ing hour,  when 
men  and  wom- 
en tell  each  other  everything,  (in  the  strictest  confi- 
dence), they  in  their  dormitories,  and  we  in  our  smoke- 
rooms,  I  revealed  my  misery  to  my  friend  Frank  C  -  — , 
who  happened  happily  to  be  staying  with  me.  Frank  has 
Irish  blood  in  his  veins,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  have 
"  a  crack  at  the  Viscount,"  but  he  ultimately  took  a  less 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


truculent  view  of  the  case,  and  suggested  brandy  and 
water.  From  this  source,  and  "  from  the  cool  cisterns  of 
the  midnight  air,"  for  we  were  smoking  our  cigars  out  of 
doors,  "  our  spirits  drank  repose,"  and  we  finally  resolved 
"  to  banish  my  regret,"  and  to  replenish  our  sketch-books, 
by  a  fortnight's  tour  in  Ireland. 


CHAPTER    II. 


TO    DUBLIN. 

ORTHWITH,    I   put  myself  into 
active    training,    and    got    into 
splendid    condition     for    doing 
"justice   to  Ireland."     I  read   Moore's 
Melodies ;   I  played  Nora  Creina  upon 
the  flute,  not  perhaps  with  that  rapidity 
which  is  usual  outside  the  Peepshows, 
but  with  much  more  expression ;  I  dis- 
coursed with  reapers  ;    I  tried  to  pro- 
nounce Drogheda,  till  I  was  nearly  black  in  the  face  ;  I  drank 


PRKFATOKV 


whiskey-punch  (subsequently  discovered  to  be  Hollands);  I 
ate  Irish  stew  (a  dish  never  heard  of  in  that  country);  and  I 
bought  the  sweetest  thing  in  portmanteaus,  with  drawers, 
trays,  pockets,  compartments,  recesses,  straps,  and  buckles, 
more  than  enough  to  drive  that  traveller  mad,  who  should 
forget  where  he  had  placed  his  razors.  Amid  these  prepar- 
ations, I  am  ashamed  to  state,  that  I  became  disgracefully 
oblivious  of  my  little  disappointment  in  the  shrubberies, 
and  soon  realised  the  Chinese  maxim,  more  truthful  than 
genteel, — "  the  dog  that  is  idle  barks  at  his  fleas,  but  he 

that  is  hunting  feels  them        

not."  Indeed,  to  make  my 
confession  complete,  and  to 
descend  the  staircase  of 
inconstancy  to  the  lowest 
depth  of  humiliation,  I 
must  acknowledge  that  on 
the  day  of  our  departure 
I  fell  violently  in  love  at 
Crewe  Station,  whence  my 
heart  was  borne  away,  in 
the  direction  of  Derby,  by 
the  loveliest  girl,  that  is  to  say,  one  of  the  loveliest  girls,  that 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


ever  beautified  an  express  train.  I  begin  to  fear  that  my 
unhappy  tendencies  to  this  kind  of  fierce,  but  fugitive 
attachment,  have  not  been  at  all  improved  by  communion 
with  Mr.  Thomas  Moore,  and  I  tremble  to  find  myself 
listening  complacently  to  the  fickle  philosophies  of  Mar- 
montel, — "  Quand  on  n'a  pas  ce  quc  Von  dime,  il  faut 
aiuicr  ce  que  Von  a." 

"  The  Rows "  of  Chester  are  very  picturesque  and 
quaint,  but  do  not  make  a  favourable  impression  upon  a 
giant  with  a  new  hat,  and,  being  on  the  upper  side  of  six 
feet,  I  was  glad  to  leave  them  for  that  pleasant,  briny, 
breezy,  railway,  which  takes  one,  via  Conway,  to  Bangor, 
and  thence, — thundering  through  the  Britannia  Tube, 
and  just  allowing  a  glimpse  of  Telford's  triumph,  the 
Bridge  of  the  Menai,  grand  and  graceful, — over  drear 
Anglesey,*  to  Holyhead.  And,  oh,  how  glad  we  were,  to 
find  old  Neptune  in  his  mildest  mood,  only  now  and  then 
just  raising  his  shoulders,  as  some  good-humored  athlete, 
who  should  say,  "  I'm  in  the  jolliest  frame  of  mind,  my 
lads,  but  I  could  pitch  the  biggest  of  you  into  the  middle 
of  next  week,  any  moment,  with  the  most  perfect  ease." 

*  In  the  time  of  the  Druids  it  was  called  "  the  Shady  Island,"  and,  though  no 
longer  umbrageous,  the  name  is  not  altogether  inappropriate. 


HOLYHEAD   TO    DUBLIN. 


Pleasant  it  was  to  pace  the  broad,  clear  deck,  with  per- 
fectly obedient  legs,  and  to  ask  what  we  could  have 
for  dinner,  with  a  real  curiosity  on  the  subject, 

Frank  C ,  not  distinguished  for  deeds  of  naval  daring. 

began,  in  the  joy  of  his  heart,  to  sing  songs  of  an  ultra- 
marine description,  alluding  to  the  land  with  severe  dis- 
paragement, and  stigmatising  that  element  as  "  the  dull, 
tame  shore."  I  must  say,  that  when  I  heard  him 
chanting, — 

"  Give  to  me  the  swelling  breeze, 
And  white  waves  heaving  high," 

I  trembled  to  think  what  a  change  would  take  place  in  the 
key-note  of  that  cheery  vocalist,  and  what  dismal  misereres 
would  ensue,  should  his  rash  petition  be  conceded.  Hap- 
pily it  was  not  attended  to,  and  we  had  but  one  invalid,  a 
lady  (the  captain  very  properly  put  a  young  man  in  irons, 
for  saying  something  about  no  Cyc-lades  in  these  seas) ;  and 
she,  I  believe,  only  wanted  sympathy  and  sherry  from  her 
husband,  who  was  evidently  a  recent  capture,  and  who 
administered  both  these  cordials  in  due  proportions,  first 
a  sip  and  then  a  kiss,  ever  and  anon,  when  he  thought  that 
no  one  was  looking,  taking  liberal  gulps  for  his  own  pri- 
vate refreshment. 


I2  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

It  was  very  beautiful,  as  the  day  declined,  to  watch  the 
vivid  phosphorescence  of  the  sea,  myriads  of  those  marine 
glow-worms,  whose  proper  names,  I  know  not,  but  who 
cause  this  brilliant  phenomenon,  lighting  up  their  tiny 
lamps.  Then  the  light  of  "Ireland's  eye"  (bright  and 
clear,  though  there  must  be  a  sty  there),  seemed  to  wel- 
come us,  blinking  bonnily;  and  entering  the  bay  of 
Dublin,  with  grateful  recollections  of  its  haddock,  we  were 
safely  landed  upon  Kingstown  quay.  Forty  minutes  more 
on  the  rail,  and  we  reach  the  city,  some  of  our  fellow- 
passengers  having  only  left  London  that  morning,  and 
having  travelled  from  one  capital  to  the  other  in  little  more 
than  twelve  hours. 

We  had  our  first  experience  of  Ireland  proper  when, 
emerging  from  the  station  at  Dublin,  we  called  for  an 
"  outside  car,"  and  a  son  of  Nimshi,  responding  in  the 
distance,  charged  down  upon  us  through  a  phalanx  of 
vehicles,  and  reached  us,  I  know  not  how,  amid  the 
acrimonious  observations  of  his  brethren.  The  first  feel- 
ing, as  we  sat  on  the  low-backed  car,  "  travelling  edge- 
ways," as  Sir  Francis  Head  designates  this  style  of  transit, 
was  one  of  extreme  insecurity,  and  though  we  laughed, 
and  made  believe  that  we  liked  it,  we  were  glad  enough  to 


DUBLIN'. 


hold   on  to  the  iron-work  until  we  arrived  at  Morrisson's. 
Our  account  with  the  charioteer  was  as  follows: — 


s.    d. 
To  Driver I     6 

To  small  boy,  seated  at  driver's  feet,  whipping 
the  horse,  and  exciting  him  with  cries  of 
"  Yap" o  6 

To    man,    for    holding   on   our  luggage,    by 

embracing  it  with  extended  arms i     o 


Total 3    o 

In  the  next  place,  we  committed  the  pious  fraud  of 
making  a  hearty  supper  under  pretence  of  tea,  instructing 
Mark  the  waiter,  very  willing  and  active,  but  with  no 
time  Tor  works  of  supererogation,  to  bre\v  us  a  large  vessel 
of  that  beverage  (which  we  never  touched),  as  though  it 
gave  a  dignity  to  the  proceeding,  and  justified,  by  its 
respectable  appearance,  our  large  potations  of  Guinness. 
So  we  drew  on  to  midnight,  and  to  (Ay  de  mi  !  Won't  my 
friend  with  the  bandy  legs  denounce  "  this  wine-bibbing 
book"  in  "the  Record!"}  Irish  whiskey.  Nevertheless, 
of  Irish  Avhiskey  this  must  be  said,  that,  when  tastefully 
arranged,  it's  a  drink  for  dukes  ;  and  he  who  skilleth  not 
to  brew  it,  more  Hibernico,  may  thank  me,  perhaps,  for 


14  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

thus  instructing  him, — Imprimis,  to  take  the  chill  off  his 
tumbler  (just  as  he  would  air  his  best  bed  for  a  beloved 
friend)  by  holding  it  for  a  few  seconds  over  the  hot  water ; 
secondly,  to  dissolve  three  lumps  of  sugar,  medium  size,  in 
a  small  quantity  of  aqua  calidissima  ;  thirdly,  to  pour  in 
the  whiskey  (Kinahan's  "LL.")  from  one  of  those  delight- 
ful little  decanters,  which  would  make  such  charming 
adjuncts  to  a  doll's  dinner  party ;  fourthly,  to  fill  up  and 
drink.  Frank  suggests  a  soupfon  of  lemon  ;  and  this  was 
the  sole  point  upon  which,  throughout  our  tour,  we  were 
not  quite  unanimous  ! 

CHAPTER  III. 


DUBLIN. 

THE  next  morning  found  us,  with  the  indomitable 
pluck  of  Englishmen,  once  more  upon  an  outside  car, 
as  doggedly  determined  as  two  old  Whigs  never  to  resign 
our  seats.  First,  we  drove  to  Merrion  Square,  where  we 
had  a  call  to  make,  and  where,  each  side  of  the  square 
being  numbered  alike,  we  spent  a  good  deal  of  time 
in  pulling  at  the  wrong  bells,  and  in  unnecessarily  evoking 


DUBLIN. 


several  servants,  whose  easy  mission  it  was  to  take  care  of 
"  number  one."  Of  this  Square  and  of  St.  Stephen's  Green 
we  thought  that,  though  as  to  extent  and  pleasant  situation 
they  were  quite  equal  to  anything  in  London,  the  houses 
themselves  were  by  no  means  so  handsome  or  commodious. 
The  University  of  Dublin,  to  us  who  study  among  the 
chapels  and  the 
cloisters  of  me- 
diaeval Oxford, 
does  not  resem- 
ble an  univer- 
sity at  all,  but  is 
more  like  a  se- 
ries of  Govern- 
ment offices,  or 
any  other  spa- 
cious public 
buildings.  Why 
do  the  porters 
wear  velvet 
hunting  caps  ? 
Frank  would  keep  inquiring,  "where  the  Jiounds  met 
was  a  broiling  day  early  in  August)  "why  they  didn't 


1 6  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

have  top  boots  ?"  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  The  museum  is  a  very 
interesting  one  ;  and  our  cicerone  in  the  cap  pointed  out 
the  harp  of  Brian  Boroimhe, — that  "Bryan  the  Brave," 
who  was  so  devoted  to  threshing  the  Danes  and  music; 
the  enormous  antlers  of  an  Irish  elk,  which  placed 
upon  wheels  would  make  a  glorious  outside  car,  the 
passengers  sitting  among  the  tines ;  eagles,  and  other 
native  birds,  galore ;  and  numberless  antiquities  and 
curiosities.  There  were  some  awful  instruments,  which 
we  ga/ed  upon  with  intense  interest,  as  being  the  most 
cruel  shillelaghs  we  had  ever  seen,  until  the  guide  hap- 
pened to  mention  that  they  were  "  weapons  of  the  South- 
Sea  Islanders." 

The  Chapel  of  Trinity  College,  like  some  in  our 
English  Universities,  is  more  suggestive  of  sleep  than 
supplication,  gloomy  without  being  solemn,  and  the  light 
dim  without  being  religious.  There  was  a  sacrifice  of  two 
inverted  hassocks  upon  the  altar,  but  the  idol  of  the  place, 
a  gigantic  pulpit,  indignantly  turned  his  back  on  them, 
and  I  was  not  slow  to  follow  his  example,  with  a 
sigh  for 

"  The  good  old  days,  when  nought  of  rich  or  rare, 
Of  bright  or  beautiful,  was  deem'd  a  gift 
Too  liberal  to  Him  who  giveth  all." 


UNIVERSITY    OF   DUBLIN. 


Indeed,  I  felt  much  more  impressed,  and  inclined  to 
take  off  my  hat  in  the  Examination  and  Dining  Halls,  as  I 
stood  in  the  pictured  presence  of  Irish  worthies,  and 
thought  of  them,  and  of  others  not  there  pourtrayed,  in 
all  their  young  power  and  promise.  I  thought  of  Arch- 
bishop UssJier,  who,  a  boy  of  eighteen,  contended  with 
the  Jesuit,  Fitz-Symonds,  and  was  designated  by  his 
opponent  as  "  acatholicorum  doctissimus."  I  thought  of 
Swift,  as  well  I  might,  having  recently  read,  for  the  third 
time,  that  most  touching  essay  on  his  life  and  genius  from 
the  master  hand  of  Thackeray.*  I  could  cry  over  that 
lecture  any  time ;  there  is  so  much  noble  sympathy  in  it 
of  one  great  genius  with  another  —  such  a  tender  yearning 
not  to  condemn,  and,  all  the  while,  such  a  grand,  honest 
resolution  to  take  side  with  what  is  right  and  true.  I 
thought  of  Swift,  "  wild  and  witty,"  in  the  happiest  days 
of  his  unhappy  life,  getting  his  degree,  "  speciali  gratia  " 
(as  a  most  particular  favour),  and  going  forth  into  the 
world  to  be  a  disappointed,  miserable  man  —  to  fight 
against  weapons  which  himself  had  welded,  a  hopeless, 
maddening  fight.  All  must  pity,  as  Johnson  and 

*  "  The  English  humourists  of  the  eighteenth  century."  three  of  whom.  Swift. 

Steele,  and  Goldsmith,  were  Irishmen. 


l8  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Thackeray  pity,  but  who  can  love  ?  He  put  on  the  sur- 
plice for  mere  earjthly  views,  and  it  was  to  him  as  the 
shirt  of  Hercules  ! 

And  next  (could  two  men  differ  more  ?)  of  Goldsmith. 
I  thought  of  him  shy  and  silent  (for  he  was  a  dull  boy,  we 
read,  and  never  learned  the  art  of  conversation),  chaffed  by 
his  fellow-students,  and  saluted  by  them,  doubtless,  in  the 
exuberance  of  their  playful  wit,  as  Demosthenes,  Cicero, 
&c.,  &c.,  until  he  might  have  felt  himself,  like  his  own 
"  Traveller" 

"  Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow," 

had  there  not  been  the  "eternal  sunshine"  of  genius,  and 
the  manifold  soft  chimes  of  poesy,  to  make  his  heart  glad. 
"He  was  chastised  by  his  tutor,  for  giving  a  dance  in  his 
room,"  (was  it  a  prance  a  la  Spurgeon,  and  for  gentlemen 
only,  or  was  there  a  brighter  presence  of  "  sweet  girl- 
graduates  with  their  golden  hair  ?")  "  and  took  the  box  on 
his  ear  so  much  to  his  heart,  that  he  packed  up  his  all, 
pawned  his  books  and  little  property,  and  disappeared 
from  college."  *  Horace  Walpole  speaks  of  him  as  "an 

*  Thackeray. 


UNIVERSITY   OP  DUBLIN.  ,g 


inspired  idiot,"  and  Garrick  describes  him  as  one 

"  for  shortness  call'd  Noll, 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  and  talk'd  like  poor  Poll ;" 

but  I  take  leave  to  think  that  "the  Deserted  Village," 
a  tale  told  by  this  idiot,  will  be  read  when  Walpole  is 
forgotten ;  and  I  believe  the  author  to  have  been  as  deep 
as  Garrick. 

Blessed  be  the  art  that  can  immortalise,  as  Sir  Joshua 
has  immortalised,  features  so  sublime  and  beautiful, 
because  so  bright  with  noble  power  and  purpose,  as  those 
of  Edmund  Burke.  Scholar,  statesman,  orator,  author, 
linguist,  lawyer,  earnest  worshipper  of  nature  and  of  art, 
what  a  mine  of  purest  gold  thy  genius  !  and  how  the  coin 
stamped  with  the  impress  of  thine  own  true  self  enriches 
all  the  world  !  "  The  mind  of  that  man,"  says  Dr.  John- 
son, "  was  a  perennial  stream ;  no  one  grudges  Burke  the 
firs't  place,"  and  Sir  Archibald  Alison  speaks  of  him,  as 
"  the  greatest  political  philosopher,  and  most  far-seeing 
statesman  of  modern  times." 

What  a  troublous,  impressive  sight  that  must  have 
been,  when  he  and  Fox,  both  of  them  in  tears,  gave  up 
the  friendship  of  five-and-twenty  years,  because  they 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


loved  each  other  too  well  to  cry  "  Peace,"  where  there  was 
no  peace. 

Out  of  all  the  grand  music  he  wrote  and  spoke,  let  me 
select  one  air  and  leave  him.  And  are  not  his  words  on 
Marie  Antoinette,  like  music,  martial  music,  "  like  a  glori- 
ous roll  of  drums,"  and  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  to  knightly 
hearts  ?  "I  thought,"  he  says,  "  ten  thousand  swords 
must  have  leaped  from  their  scabbards,  to  avenge  even  a 
look,  which  threatened  her  with  insult.  But  the  age  of 
chivalry  is  gone." 

But  no,  I  cannot  leave  him,  it  would  not  be  honest  to 
leave  him,  without  the  confession  that  there  was  a  flaw  in 
the  statue,  one  note  of  this  grand  instrument  out  of  tune, 
and  that  this  giant  had  his  weakness.  It  must  be  sorrow- 
fully owned  that  he  had  low  and  unsound  views  on  the 
subject  of  the  pursuit  of  game ;  he  said  it  was  "  a  trivial 
object  with  severe  sanctions;"  and  his  most  devoted 
admirers  can  never  emancipate  his  memory  from  the  stern 
and  sad  suspicion,  that  he  could  not  have  been  a  first- 
rate  shot. 

I  thought  of  Grattan,  who  distinguished  himself  within 
these  walls, — the  brave  unswerving  patriot,  whose  fiery 
eloquence  Moore  terms  "  the  very  music  of  freedom " 


UNIVERSITY    OF   DUBLIN.  21 

(music,  by  the  way,  which  would  very  'summarily  be 
stopped  in  our  day  by  Mr.  Speaker  Denisoii) ;  of  Moore 
himself,  with  his  head  upon  his  hands,  "sapping"  at 
those  Latin  verses,  which  he  hated  with  all  his  heart,  ever 
and  anon  disgusted  to  find  the  second  syllable  of  some 
favourite  dactyl  long,  or  the  first  of  some  pet  spondee 
short ;  finally  (as  the  chroniclers  tell),  tearing  up  the  per- 
formance, and  sending  to  the  Dons  some  English  verse  in 
lieu,  for  which/  to  their  glory  be  it  written,  they  gave  him 
praise  and  a  prize.  Here,  too,  he  commenced  his  transla- 
tion of  the  Odes  of  Anacreon,  (a  labour  of  Love,  if  ever 
there  was  one) ;  and  here,  doubtless,  oft  in  the  stilly  night, 
he  sang  some  of  those  touching  melodies,  which  were  so 
soon  to  "  witch  the  world." 

Lastly,  I  thought,  (for  our  jockey  in  undress  was  get- 
ting rather  restive),  of  genial,  jovial  Curran,  of  whom  Dan 
O'Connell  said,  "  there  never  was  so  honest  an  Irishman," 
and  of  whom  there  is  one  of  the  most  charming  biogra- 
phies extant  in  the  "  Curran  and  his  Contemporaries"  by 
Mr.  Commissioner  Philips. 

We  could  not  see  the  very  large  and  valuable  Library, 
as  it  is  closed  during  Vacations ;  and  so,  having  admired 
the  exterior  of  the  New  Museum,  and  taken  a  general 


22  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

survey  of  the  college,  we  made  our  bow  to  the  Alma 
Mater  of  Ireland. 

It  must  be  exquisitely  gratifying  to  a  large  majority  of 
the  inhabitants  to  contemplate  King  William  III.  riding, 
gilt  and  bronzed,  upon  College  Green,  to  be  kept  in  con- 
stant recollection  of  the  Boyne,  and  of  the  immunities  and 
privileges  which  resulted  from  it.  Everybody  knows  that 
he  was  a  fine  horseman,  but  the  sculptor  has  not  given  him 
a  hunting  seat ;  and  I  think  we  could  improve  him,  if  we 
had  him  at  Oxford,  by  painting  him  in  a  cutaway  and 
buckskins. 

There  is  no  fault  to  be  found  with  the  statues  of  Nelson 
and  of  Moore,  the  former  being  very  effective,  and  the 
latter  (though  suggestive  in  the  distance  of  a  gentleman 
hailing  an  omnibus)  being  impressive  and  pleasing  on  a 
nearer  view. 

The  public  buildings  which  we  saw,  the  Bank  of  Ire- 
land (once  the  Houses  of  its  Lords  and  Commons),  the 
Four  Courts,  College  of  Surgeons,  Post  Office,  Barracks, 
&c.,  are  all  handsome,  chiefly  of  Grecian  architecture,  and 
interesting  to  those  who  fancy  this  style  of  sight-seeing. 

We  were  rather  disappointed  with  Sackville-Street.  It 
wants  length;  and  it  wants  (Heaven  send  it  soon!)  the 


THE    PHCENIX    PARK. 


animation  of  business  and  opulence,  gay  equipages,  and 
crowded  pavements. 

The  Phcenix  Park  is  delightful,  rus  in  urbe — some  1700 
acres  of  greensward  and  trees.  We  met  several  regiments, 
returning  from  a  review;  (the  carman  told  us  there  were 
two  reviews  weekly,  and  we,  of  course,  said  something 
brilliant  about  the  Dublin  Review  being  monthly] ;  and 
were,  consequently,  in  an  admirable  frame  of  mind  to 
appreciate  the  monument,  grin  and  granite,  in  honour  of 
the  Iron  Duke.  What  men  this  Dublin  has  given  to  the 
world  —  Swift,  Steele,  Burke,  Grattan,  Moore,  Wellington. 
The  names  of  his  great  battles  are  graven  on  the  obelisk, 
Waterloo  being,  of  course,  omitted.  I  say  "  of  course," 
because  there  is  something  so  delightfully  Irish  in  this 
small  oversight,  that  it  seems  quite  natural  and  appro- 
priate; and  I  should  as  little  dream  of  being  surprised 
or  vexed  by  it,  as  if  in  an  Irish  edition  of  Milton  I  could 
find  no  "Paradise  Lost." 

In  the  Phcenix  Park  are  the  Constabulary  Barracks, 
and  the  men  were  at  drill  as  we  drove  by.  There  is  no 
exaggeration  in  stating,  "that  if  a  regiment  could  be  formed 
from  the  Irish  constables,  it  would  be  the  finest  regiment 
in  arms.  See  them  wherever  you  may,  they  are,  almost 


24  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

without  exception,  handsome,  erect,  heroic.  Picked  men, 
and  admirably  trained,  they  are  as  smart,  and  clean,  lithe, 
and  soldier-like,  as  the  severest  sergeant  could  desire. 
They  do  credit  to  him  whose  name  they  bear,  for  they  are 
still  called  "  Peelers"  after  their  godfather  Sir  Robert,  who 
originated  the  force,  when  Secretary  for  Ireland.  Fifty  of 
them  had  left  Dublin  for  Kilkenny  that  morning,  to 
expostulate  with  the  bould  pisantry  on  the  impropriety  of 
smashing  some  reaping-machines  recently  introduced 
among  them.  The  Irishman  is  not  quick  to  appreciate 
agricultural  improvements.  It  required  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment to  prevent  him  from  attaching  the  plough  to  the  tails 
of  his  horses ;  he  was  very  slow  to  acknowledge  that  the 
plough  itself  was  better,  when  made  of  iron  than  of  wood ; 
he  esteemed  a  bunch  of  thorns,  with  a  big  stone  a-top,  as 
the  most  efficient  harrow  going;  and  he  denounced  the 
winnowing-machine,  as  a  wicked  attempt  to  oppose  the 
decree  of  a  good  Providence,  which  sent  the  wind  of 
heaven  "  to  clane  the  whate  and  oats." 

A  short  time  afterwards,  we  were  surprised  to  see  in  a 
letter  from  one  of  these  constables  to  The  Galway  Express, 
that  their  pay,  after  twenty  years  service,  is  only  two  shiU 
lings  per  diem  ;  and  low  as  the  remuneration  for  labour 


KILI.IXKV.  ,r 

still   is  in   this  country,  one  cannot  help  but  sympathise 
with  the  complainant. 

These  lions,  from  whose  manes  and  tails  we  have 
ventured  to  extract  a  few  memorial  hairs,  were  inspected 
before  luncheon ;  immediately  after  that  refection,  we  set 
forth  per  rail,  and  via  Kingston,  to  Killiney  We  had 
ample  time,  as  we  went,  to  contemplate  the  surrounding 
objects,  which  were  not  "  rendered  invisible  from  extreme 
velocity,"  the  nine  miles  occupying  forty-five  minutes;  but 
we  saw  nothing  of  especial  interest  until  we  had  reached 
the  station,  and  began  to  ascend  the  hill.  Then  we 
exulted,  eye  and  heart.  The  hill  itself  is  worthy  of  a  visit, 
the  massive  blocks  of  "  its  cold  grey  stones "  contrasting 
admirably  with  the  rosy  heaths  (I  never  saw  ericas  in 
greenhouse  or  garden  with  such  a  fresh,  vivid  brightness,*) 
and  with  the  glowing,  golden  furze.  Ah,  how  poor  and 
formal  are  statues,  and  terraces,  and  vases,  and  "  ribbon- 
patterns,"  and  geometrical  designs,  and  "  bedding  out," 
when  compared  with  nature's  handiwork  !  And  though, 
perhaps,  never  since  the  days  of  "  the  grand  old  gardener  " 
has  ornate  horticulture  attained  so  great  a  splendour,  what 
true  lover  of  flowers  is  really  satisfied  with  our  gorgeous 

*  This  applies  throughout  Ireland.     See  "  Inglis's  Tour,"  vol.  ii..  p.  4* 


26  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

modern  gardens  ?  We  treat  them,  for  the  most  part,  as  a 
child,  with  a  new  box  of  paints,  his  pictures  —  all  the  most 
glaring  colours  are  crowded  together;  and  the  eye,  dazzled 
and  bewildered,  yearns  for  that  repose  and  harmony  which, 
in  nature,  whether  in  the  few  flowerets  of  some  hidden 
nook,  or  in  the  fiery  autumnal  grandeur  of  some  mighty 
forest,  diffuse  perpetual  peace. 

There  is  an  extraordinary  structure  at  the  top  of 
Killiney  Hill,  which  could  only  have  been  devised  by  an 
Irish  architect.  It  is  not  a  tower,  nor  a  lighthouse,  nor  a 
summer-house :  nay,  the  builder  himself  confesses  that  he 
knows  not  what  it  is,  in  the  following  inscription  : — "  Last 
year  being  hard  with  the  poor,  the  walls  about  these  hills, 
and  THIS,  &c.,  &c.,  erected  by  John  Mapas,  Esq.,  June, 
1742." 

Hard  by,  a  young  Duke  of  Dorset  was  thrown  and 
killed,  while  hunting.  It  must  have  been  a  very  Irish  fox 
that  led  hound  and  horse  into  such  a  perilous  position,  and 
the  only  wonder  is  that  any  of  the  riders  came  down  alive. 
A  monumental  pillar  perpetuates  the  sorrowful  history  and 
warns  enthusiastic  sportsmen  from  galloping  over  the  broken 
ground  and  hidden  fissures  of  misty  mountain  tops. 

Apropos  of  mountain  and  of  mist,   we    saw  a  sight 


KILLINEY.  2. 

which  reminded  us  of  Anne  of  Geierstein,  as  she  appeared 
to  Arthur  Philipson,  "  perched  upon  the  very  summit  of  a, 
pyramidical  rock."  For  among  the  works  executed  by 
the  benevolent  behest  of  Mapas,  there  is  one,  hewn  in 
stone,  a  four-sided  staircase,  leading  to  an  apex,  intended, 
doubtless,  for  a  statue.  But  this  was  wanting  when  we 
first  arrived ;  for  the  design,  like  so  many  others  in  poor 
old  Ireland,  had  never  been  completed,  and  there 
were  no 

"  statues  gracing, 
This  noble  place  in." 

But  by  the  goddess  Vanus,  just  as  Frank  and  I  were 
lamenting  this  sad  omission,  the  loveliest — at  all  events 
one  of  the  loveliest  girls  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen, 
tripped  lightly  up  the  steps,  laughing  at  a  dear  old  clerical 
papa,  who  pretended  to  be  alarmed,  but  wasn't ;  and  some- 
thing, beating  violently  under  my  left  brace,  told  me  that 
my  heart  had  returned  from  Crewe,  as  a  traveller  comes 
home  for  a  day  or  so,  to  prepare  himself  for  another  tour. 
It  stayed  with  me  four  seconds,  and  then  'twas  hers. 
"  Behold,"  I  said, 

"  'Car  les  beaux  yeux 

Sont  les  deux  sceptres  de  1'amour,' 


28 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


the  enthronement  of  the  Queen  of  Beauty."  And  the  sea- 
breeze  forsook  the  jealous  waves  to  woo  her ;  the  sunlight 
beamed  on  her  with  golden  smiles ,  and  the  very  swallow, 

turning  from 
his  favourite 
fly,  flew  past 
her,  twitter- 
ing admira- 
tion. Rough 
sailors  out  at 
sea  that  day 
caught  sight 
of  this  fair  vis- 
ion through 
the  glass,  and 
pE_  ceased  for 
half  an  hour 
to  swear. 

There   she 
stood,  as 

"jocund  day 
Stands  tip-toe  on  the  misty  mountain  top;" 

like  Byron's  Mary,  on  the  hill  of  Annesleyf  awaiting  that 


KILLIXEY.  29 

mighty  hunter,  the  gallant,  handsome  Musters,  when 

"  on  the  summit  of  that  hill  she  stood 
Looking  afar,  if  yet  her  lover's  steed 
Kept  pace  with  her  expectancy,  and  flew." 

Or  she  might  have  been  "The  Gardeners  Daughter" 
when 

"  Half  light,  half  shade, 
She  stood,  a  sight  to  make  an  old  man  young." 

But  never  mind  what  she  migJit  have  been,  there  she  was. 

"Talk  about  Helen, 

That  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality." 

And  never  shall  I  forget  how  painfully  drear  that  pedestal 
seemed,  when  the  statue,  descending  took  her  Papa's  arm 
(Oh,  that  her  beloved  Governor  were  mine  also  !),  and  was 
gone  from  our  gaze,  like  a  beautiful  star. 

The  view  from  the  hill  of  Killiney  is  one  of  the  love- 
liest in  this  land  of  loveliness.  Seated  among  the  purple 
and  golden  flowers,  you  look  over  its  rocks  and  trees  upon 
the  noble  Bay  of  Dublin,  with  its  waters  "  bickering  in  the 
noontide  blaze,"  and  the  stately  ships  gliding  to  and  fro. 
Below  is  Kingstown,  opposite  the  old  hill  of  Howth,  and  in 
the  centre  the  metropolis  of  Ireland. 


30  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

I  do  not  think  that  one  ever  has  such  a  happy  feeling 
of  entire  contentment,  as  when  gazing  upon  beautiful 
scenery ;  and  there  we  sat,  in  silent  admiration,  and  took 
no  note  of  time,  until  the  train  by  which  we  had  proposed 
to  return,  awoke  us  from  our  dreamy  bliss,  shrieking  at  us 
in  derision  from  below,  and  steaming  off  to  Dublin.  So 
that,  some  two  hours  later,  we  found  our  dinners  and  our- 
selves a  little  overdone  at  Morrisson's ;  and  nothing  but 
some  very  transcendental  claret,  and  the  resilient  spirit  of 
roving  Englishmen,  could  have  induced  us  to  sally  forth 
once  more  for  the  gardens  of  Porto- Bello. 

Becoming  acclimatised  to  the  Outside  Car,  we  began  to 
enter  into  conversation  with  the  drivers,  and  found  them, 
like  all  Irishmen,  quaint  and  witty,  though  their  humour, 
perhaps,  does  not  lie  so  near  the  surface  as  it  did  before 
the  Famine  and  Father  Matthew.*  Our  charioteer  this 
evening  was  eloquently  invective  against  a  London  cab 
which  preceded  us,  and  which  he  designated  as  "a  baste 
of  a  tub."  "Sure,  gintlemen,"  said  he,  "and  I'm  for  th' 


*  The  priest  can  scarcely  have  been  a  descendant  of  his  namesake,  the 
General,  who,  to  the  manifest  delight  of  an  Irish  Parliament,  thus  spake  of 
pothten: — "The  Chancellor  on  the  woolsack  drinks  it,  the  Judge  on  the  bench 
drinks  it,  the  Peer  in  his  robes  drinks  it,  the  Beggar  with  his  wallet  drinks  it, 
J  drink  it,  every  man  drinks  it ." 


THE    PORTO-BELLO    GARDENS. 


3' 


ould  style  intirely — it's  illigant.  I  tell  ye  what  it  is,  yer 
onners,"  (and  he  turned  to  us  in  impressive  confidence, 
and  pointed  contemptuously  with  his  whip  at  the  offending 
vehicle)  "I'd  lep  over  the  likes  o*  that  with  this  little 
mare;"  but  we  earnestly  begged  he  wouldn't. 

We  were  so  fortunate  as  to  reach  the  Porto-Bello 
Gardens  just  in  time  for  "  The  Siege  and  Capture  of 
Delhi,"  We  had  both  of  us  formed  most  erroneous  im- 
pressions on  the  subject,  and  it  was  a  grand  opportunity 
for  ascertaining  truth.  If  the  representation  was  correct, 
and  there  seems  no  reason  to  mistrust  it,  as  "  no  expense 
had  been  spared,"  it  is  high  time  for  the  English  people 
to  be  told  that  the  accounts  which  have  appeared  in  their 
newspapers  (the  graphic,  glowing  descriptions  of  Mr.  , 
William  Russell  inclusive)  are  wickedly  and  superlatively 
false  ! 

The  city  of  Delhi  is  constructed  of  painted  wood,  and 
does  not  exceed  in  dimensions  a  respectable  modern  resi- 
dence. Before  it,  there  is  a  pool  of  water.  The  siege 
commenced  with  a  tune  on  the  key-bugle,  and  with  an 
appropriate  illumination  of  Bengal  lights,  which  extended 
over  the  entire  scene  of  war,  and  was  got  up,  as  we  sup- 
posed, at  the  joint  expense  of  the  combatants.  Then  the 


32  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IX    IRELAND. 

Anglo-Indian  army,  which  had  taken  up  a  perilous  posi- 
tion about  four  yards  from  the  city,  led  off  with  a 
Roman-candle,  and  the  rebels  promptly  replied  with  a 
maroon.  The  exasperated  besiegers  now  went  in,  or 
rather  went  a  long  way  over,  with  rockets, — the  Sepoys, 
with  undaunted  courage,  defying  them  with  blue  lights 
and  crackers.  For  a  time  the  battle  was  waged  with 
extraordinary  spirit,  steel-filings,  &c.,  &c. ;  but,  finally, 
the  "  awful  explosion  of  the  Magazine,"  admirably  ren- 
dered by  a  "  Jack-in-a-box,"  threw  the  rebels  into  sad 
distress,  and  they  came  running  (all  six  of  them)  from 
the  city,  trying  the  old  dodge  to  give  an  idea  of  multi- 
tude, by  rushing  in  at  one  door  and  rushing  out  at 
another.  The  British  soldiers,  conversant  with  this 
manoeuvre,  which  they  had  so  often  witnessed  at  Mr. 
Batty's  Hippodrome,  immediately  charged  into  the 
devoted  city,  lit  a  red  light,  and  all  was  over.  The  total 
silence,  which  immediately  ensued  within  the  walls,  im- 
pressively told  the  annihilation  of  the  vanquished,  and  the 
great  fatigue  (or,  alas  !  it  might  be  the  abject  intoxica- 
tion) of  the  victors,  reminding  one  forcibly  of  the  school- 
boy's description,  in  Latin,  of  the  termination  of  a  siege, — 
"  Dein  victores,  nrbe  captd,  sicnt  pisces  bibunt,  et,  parvula 


FROM    DUBLIN   TO    GALWAY.  ,, 


si   nlla,    illis    culpc,    nnllum    bestiarum  finem  ex   scipsis 
facinnt." 

Frank  said  it  was  Delhicious  !  and  to  this  atrocity,  as 
well  as  to  His  Excellency's  absence  from  Dublin,  I 
attribute  the  melancholy  fact  that  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of 
Ireland  never  called  upon  us. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

FROM    DUBLIN   TO   GALWAY. 

THE  next  morning  at  breakfast,  a  Scotch  gentleman, 
with  an  amazing  accent,  would  read  the  newspaper  in  such 
loud  tones  to  his  friend,  that,  not  being  monks,  nor  accus- 
tomed to  be  read  to,  more  monastico,  at  our  meals,  we 
really  could  not  enjoy  our  food,  and  were  compelled  to 
toss  up  which  should  recite  to  the  other  the  list  of  Bank- 
rupts from  The  Times.  I  lost,  but  had  not  progressed  far  in 
my  distinct  enunciation  of  the  unhappy  insolvents,  when  the 
Caledonian  took  the  hint,  and  we  ate  our  mackerel  in  peace. 

Leaving  Dublin  by  the  "  Midland  Great  Western  Rail- 
way," at  10:30,  we  reached  Galway  at  3:45.  The  inter- 

3 


34  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

mediate  country  is,  for  the  most  part,  dreary  and  uninter- 
esting, at  times  resembling  the  bleaker  parts  of  Derbyshire, 
and  at  times  Chat  Moss.  "  I  am  no  botanist,"  as  the 
Undergraduate  remarked  to  the  Farmer,  who  expostulated 
with  him  for  riding  over  his  wheat;  but  the  agriculture 
appeared  to  be  feeble,  and  to  show  want  of  management  in 
its  twofold  signification.  The  green  crops  looked  well 
everywhere,  but  the  corn  was  thin,  and  the  pastures  by  no 
means  of  that  emerald  hue  which  we  had  expected  to  find. 
With  the  exceptions  of  peasants,  cutting  and  stacking  peat 
for  their  winter  fuel,  children  at  the  doors  of  cottages,  the 
railway  passengers  and  officials,  there  seemed  to  us,  com- 
ing from  densely  populated  England,  to  be  really  "  nobody 
about ;"  and  the  contrast  between  our  present  route  and 
that  which  we  had  travelled,  two  days  before,  through  the 
"Potteries,"  was  as  marked  as  contrast  well  could  be. 
This  comparative  quietude  and  silence  prevailed  wherever 
we  went,  as  though  we  were  wandering  through  the 
grounds  of  some  country  place,  "the  family"  being  abroad, 
and  most  of  the  servants  gone  out  to  tea..  Ah,  when  will 
the  family  come  back  to  live  at  home,  to  take  delight  in 
this  beautiful  but  neglected  garden,  weed  the  walks,  turn 
out  the  pig,  and  look  after  these  indolent  and  quarrelsome 


DUBLIN    TO    GALWAY. 


35 


servants  ?  —  indolent  and  quarrelsome,  only  because  there 
are  none  to  encourage  industry  and  to  maintain  peace. 

We  passed  the  station  of  Maynootli,  but  did  not  see  the 
"  Royal  College  of  St.  Patrick,"  and  are  therefore  unable 
to  vituperate  that  establishment,  as  otherwise  it  would  be 
our  duty  to  do.  Missing  this  fashionable  Christian  exercise, 
I  amused  myself  by  attiring  a  portly,  close-shaven  priest — 
who  sat  opposite  to  me,  and  who 
had  a  face  which  would  have  repre- 
sented anybody  with  the  aid  of  a 
clever  costumier — in  all  sorts  of 
imaginary  head-dresses,  dowagers' 
turbans,  Grenadiers'  caps,  Gampian 
bonnets,  beadles'  hats,  etc.,  and  en- 
deavoured to  fancy  the  feelings  of 
his  flock,  if  they  were  to  see  him  in 
reality,  as  I  in  thought. 

Passing  through  county  Meath, 
we  were  again  reminded  of  Swift, 
who  held  the  rectory  of  Agher,  with  the  vicarages 
of  Laracor  and  Rathbeggan  therein,  and  of  the  beautiful 
Hester,  sacrificed  to  his  vanity,  and  crying  aloud,  in  piteous 
tone,  "  It  is  too  late  !  It  is  too  late  !" 


36  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Nigh  to  Athlone  (of  which  more  hereafter)  is  the  village 
of  Auburn,  formerly  called  Lissoy,  the  residence  of  Parson 
Goldsmith,  and  the  early  home  of  the  poet.  The  scenes  of 
his  childhood  and  his  youth  were  doubtless  remembered 
by  him,  when  he  wrote  "The  Deserted  Village,"  and  many 
features  of  resemblance  may  still  be  traced. 

At  Ballinasloe  (everybody  has  heard  of  its  great  horse- 
fair,  and  how  the  hunters  jump  over  the  walls  of  the 
"  Pound,"  in  height  about  eight  feet,  Irish)  we  entered  the 
county  of  Galway,  and  tremblingly  anticipated,  after  all  we 
had  heard  of  its  wild,  reckless  sons,  that  some  delirious 
driver  would  spring  upon  the  engine,  with  a  screech  louder 
than  its  own,  put  on  all  steam,  run  us  off  the  line  for  fun, 
and  cause  us  to  be  challenged  by  our  fellow-passengers, 
should  we  escape  with  our  lives,  for  not  appreciating  the 
sport.  But  we  travelled  onwards,  demurely  and  at  peace ; 
and,  indeed,  throughout  our  little  tour,  so  far  from  being 
provoked  or  annoyed,  we  met  with  nothing  but  kindness 
and  'courtesy,  and  a  good-humoured  willingness  to  be 
pleased  and  to  please. 

The  Railway  Hotel  at  Galway  is  the  largest  that  we 
saw  in  Ireland,  and  contains,  as  we  had  been  informed, 
"a  power  o'  beds."  These  want  sleepers  sadly,  and  at 


GALWAY. 


37 


present  the  tourist,  as  he  wanders  from  coffee-room  to 
dormitory,  feels  very  much 

••  Like  one  that  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted, 
Whose  guests  are  fled,"  &c., 

and  cheers  his  loneliness  with  the  thought,  that  should 
Galway  become  (as  all  who  care  for  Ireland  must  hope)  the 
port  for  America,  this  solemn  stillness  shall  depress  no 
more.  The  inn  forms  one  side  of  the  principal  Square, 
and,  the  neighbour  buildings  being  comparatively  small 
and  dingy,  resembles  some  grand  lady,  in  all  her  crinoline, 
teaching  the  third  class  at  a  Sunday  school.  The  grass- 
plat  and  garden  are  nicely  kept,  but  their  chief  ornaments 
struck  us  as  being  rather  incongruous,  to  wit,  hydrangeas 
and  cannon  /  'The  guns  were  pointed  at  our  bedroom 
windows,  and  it  really  required  some  little  resolution  next 
morning  to  shave  ourselves  with  placidity  "at  the  can- 
nons' mouth."  Having  secured  places  for  the  morrow  on 
the  Car  to  Clifden,  specially  stipulating  for  "the  Lake 
side  "  of  the  conveyance,  we  selected  a  shrewd-looking  lad 
from  a  crowd  of  candidates  (the  Roman  candidati  wore 
white  togas  in  the  market-place,  but  these  young  gentle- 
men did  not),  and  went  to  see  the  sights.  We  saw  a  great 


38  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

deal  that  was  very  interesting,  and  a  great  deal  that  was 
very  dirty ;  we  saw  the  traces  of  Spanish  architecture,  in 
quaint  gateways  and  quadrangular  courts,  but  were  not 
"  reminded  of  Seville,"  our  only  association  with  that  city 
being  a  passionate  love  of  marmalade ;  we  saw  Lynch's 
castle,  and  its  grotesque  carving  is  very  curious ;  we  saw 
the  house  in  Deadman's  Lane,  where  lived  that  Fitz- 
Stephen,  Warden  of  Galway,  who,  according  to  the  worst 
authenticated  tradition,  assisted  at  the  hanging  of  his  own 
son  ;  we  saw  warehouses  sans  ware ;  granaries,  some  with- 
out grain,  and  others  with  "  the  meal-sacks  on  the 
whitened  floor;"  we  saw  and  greatly  admired  Queen's  Col- 
lege; we  saw  chapels  and  nunneries,  whence  the  Angelus 
bell  sounded  as  we  passed;  above /all  we  saw  the  Clad- 
dagh.  Going  thither,  our  little  showman  told  us  of  the 
big  trade  in  wines  between  this  place  and  Spain  which 
flourished  in  the  good  times  of  old,  and  I  foolishly  thought 
to  perplex  him  by  the  inquiry,  "whether  much  business 
was  done  in  the  Spanish  juice  line  ?  " 

"And  sure,"  said  he,  "your  onner  must  know,  that  was 
the  thrade  intirely.  Divil  a  taste  of  anything  else  did  they 
bring  us,  but  the  juist  of  their  Spanish  vines." 

The  Englishman  who  desires  a  new  sensation  should 


THE    CLADDAGH 


39 


pay  a  visit  to  the  Claddagh.  When  we  arrived,  the  men 
were  at  sea ;  but  the  women,  in  their  bright  red  petti- 
coats, descending  half-way  down  the  uncovered  leg,  their 
cloaks  worn  like  the  Spanish  mantilla,  and  of  divers  col- 
ours, their  handkerchiefs  and  hoods,  were  grouped  among 
the  old  grey  ruins  where  the  fish  market  is  held,  and 
formed  a  tableau  not  to  be  forgotten.  Though  their 
garments  are  torn,  and  patched,  and  discoloured,  there  is 
a  graceful  simple  dignity  about  them  which  might  teach 
a  lesson  to  Parisian  milliners;  and  to  my  fancy  the  most 


40  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

becoming  dress  in  all  the  world  is  that  of  a  peasant  girl 
of  Connamara.  Compare  it,  reader,  with  our  present 
mode,  and  judge.  Look  at  the  two,  sculptor,  and  say 
which  will  you  carve  ?  Say,  when  "  Santa  Philomena  "  is 
graved  in  marble,  shall  it  be  with  flounces  and  hoops  ? 

No,  whatever  may  be  the  wrongs  of  Ireland,  no  lover 
of  the  picturesque  and  beautiful  would  wish  to  see  her  re- 
dressed (so  far  as  the  ladies  are  concerned — the  gentlemen 
might  be  improved) ;  no  one  would  desire  to  see  her 
peasant  girls  in  the  tawdry  bonnets  and  brass-eyed  boots, 
which  stultify  the  faces  and  cripple  the  feet  of  the  daugh- 
ters of  our  English  labourers. 

As  to  the  origin  of  these  Claddagh  people,  I  am  not 
sufficiently  "  up  "  in  ethnology,  to  state  with  analytical  ex- 
actness the  details  of  their  descent ;  but  I  should  imagine 
them  to  be  one-third  Irish,  one-third  Arabian,  and  the 
other  Zingaro,  or  Spanish  gypsy.  *  I  thought  that  I 
recognized  in  one  old  lady  an  Ojibbeway  chief,  who 
frightened  me  a  good  deal  in  my  childhood,  but  she  had 
lost  the  expression  of  ferocity,  and  I  was,  perhaps,  mistaken. 

*  Wales  is  represented  by  the  Joneses,  The  original  John  may  have  come 
over  with  Thomas  Joyce,  who  was  good  enough  to  appropriate  "  the  Joyce  Coun- 
try "  to  himself  and  family,  in  the  reign  of  Kdward  the  First. 


THE    CLADDAGH. 

41 


The  men  are  all  fishermen  (very  clumsy  ones,  accord- 
ing to  Miss  Martineau,  who  talks  about  harpoons  as  if  they 
were  crochet  needles,  in  her  interesting  "  Letters  from  Ire- 
land"); but  they  give  up  their  cargoes  to  the  women  on 
landing,  only  stipulating  that  from  the  proceeds  they  may- 
be supplied  with  a  good  store  of  drink  and  tobacco,  and 
so  get  due  compensation  on  the  shore  for  their  unvary- 
ing sobriety  at  sea. 

They  live  (some  1500  souls  in  all)  in  a  village  of  misera- 
ble cabins,  the  walls  of  mud  and  stone,  and  for  the  most 
part  windowless,  the  floors  damp  and  dirty,  and  the  roofs 
a  mass  of  rotten  straw  and  weeds.  The  poultry  mania — 
(and  if  it  is  not  mania  to  give  ten  guineas  for  a  bantam, 
in  what  does  insanity  consist?*)  —  must  be  here  at  its 
height,  for  the  cocks  and  hens  roost  in  the  parlour.  But 
"  the  swells  "  of  the  Claddagh  are  its  pigs.  They  really 
have  not  only  a  "  landed  expression,"  as  though  the  place 
belonged  to  them,  but  a  supercilious  gait  and  mien  ;  and 
with  an  autocratic  air,  as  though  repeating  to  themselves 
the  spirited  verses  of  Mr.  A.  Selkirk,  they  go  in  and  out, 
whenever  and  wherever  they  please.  I  saw  one  of  them, 

*  This  form  of  delirium  is  by  no  means  of  modern  origin.    OpviSonavia,  a  pas- 
sionate love  of  rare  birds,  was  known  among  the  ladies  of  Athens. 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


bold  as  the  beast  who  upset  Giotto,*  knock  over  a  child 
with  his  snout ;  and  I  have  a  sad  impression  that  the 
juvenine  was  whipped  for  interfering  with  the  royal 
progress.  Frank  solemnly  declared  that  he  saw  one,  as 

pourtrayed  with  his  back 
against  the  lintail  of  his 
home,  and  smoking  his 
evening  pipe. 

I  receive  this  statement 
cum  grano  salis  (always  ap- 
||l  propriate  to  bacon),  as  I  do 
Phil  Purcel's,  "that  there 
was  in  Ireland  an  old  breed 
of  swine,  which  is  now 
'—^  nearly  extinct,  except  in 
some  remote  parts  of  the  country,  where  they  are  still 
useful  in  the  hunting  season,  if  dogs  happen  to  be 
scarce  ;"t  and  (with  all  deference  to  the  lady),  Mr.  and 

*  We  read  in  Lanzi's  History  of  Painting,  that  as  Giotto  was  walking  with  his 
friendr.,  one  Sunday,  in  the  Via  del  Cocomero,  at  Florence,  he  was  overthrown  by 
a  pig  running  between  his  legs.  Whereupon  the  painter,  albeit  he  was  in  his 
best  clothes,  philosophically  recognized  a  just  retribution,  "for,"  said  he,  "al- 
though I  have  earned  many  thousand  crowns  with  the  bristles  of  these  animals,  I 
never  gave  to  one  of  them  a  spoonful  of  swill  in  my  life  !" 

t  Carleton's  "  Traits  and  Stories  of  the  Irish  Peasantry." 


THE   CLADDAGH. 


43 


Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall's,  "an  acquaintance  of  ours  taught  one 
to  point,  and  the  animal  found  game  as  correctly  as  a 
pointer.  He  gave  tongue,  too,  after  his  own  fashion,  by 
grunting  in  a  sonorous  tone,  and  understood  when  he  was 
to  take  the  field  as  well  as  any  dog."  *  But,  however  this 
may  be,  everything  in  the  Claddagh  is  done  to  "  please  the 
pigs;" 

"  Pride  in  their  port,  defiance  in  their  eye, 
You  see  them,  lords  of  all  around,  pass  by;" 

and  Og  reigneth  once  more  in  Basan.  He  is  precious  and 
he  has  his  privileges.  "  I  think  "  (said  Phil  from  the  hob) 
"  that  nobody  has  a  better  right  to  the  run  of  the  house, 
whedher  up  stairs  or  down  stairs,  than  him  that  pays  the 
rint"  Such  is  the  great  destiny  of  the  Irish  pig.  He  is  not 
associated  in  the  prospective  contemplations  of  his  owner 
with  low  views  of  pork  and  sausages ;  for  Paddy  says,  with 
Launcelot,  "  if  we  grow  all  to  be  pork-eaters,  we  shall  not 
shortly  have  a  rasher  on  the  coals  for  money,"  and 

"  As  for  eating  a  rasher  of  what  they  take  pride  in, 

They'd  as  soon  think  of  eating  the  pan  it  is  fryed  in ;"  t 

out  he  represents  the  generous  friend  and  benefactor,  who 

*  In  their  pleasant  volume,  "  The  West  and  Connamara." 
t  Goldsmith's  "  Letter  to  Lord  Clare." 


44  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

is  about  to  render  an  important  service  at  considerable 
personal  discomfort. 

It  was  a  washing-day  at  one  of  the  cabins,  and  a  great 
variety  of  wearing  apparel  was  hung  out  to  dry.  We 
could  not  discover  a  single  article  which  at  all  resembled 
anything  known  to  us,  or  which  a  schoolboy  would  have 
accepted  for  any  part  of  his  Faux. 

Nevertheless,  one  likes  the  people  of  the  Claddagh ; 
they  seem  to  be  honest,  industrious,  and  good-tempered, 
and  they  have,  at  least,  one  great  virtue  —  like  Lady 
Godiva,  they  are  "clothed  on  with  chastity."  Sir  Francis 
Head,  who  had  the  best  means  of  getting  information  from 
the  police,  and  used  them  with  his  exhaustive  energy, 
could  not  hear  that  there  had  ever  been  an  illegitimate 
child  born  in  the  Claddagh.  They  never  intermarry  with 
strangers,  and  "  their  marriages  are  generally  preceded  by 
an  elopement "  (vide  the  article  on  "  Galway,"  in  the  En- 
cyclopedia Britannica,  which  one  is  surprised  to  find  dis- 
coursing on  such  festive  pleasantries),  "  and  followed  by  a 
boisterous  merry-  making. ' ' 


THE    FAMINE. 


CHAPTER     V. 


THE   FAMINE. 

As  SCHOOLBOYS,  to  whom  "next  half"  begins  to- 
morrow— sailors  on  the  eve  of  a  voyage — invalids,  expect- 
ing a  physician,  who,  they  know,  will  prescribe  an  unwel- 
come diet  —  yea,  even  as  criminals  before  execution,  — 
amplify  their  meals,  and,  from  their  dreary  expectations, 
educe  a  keener  relish,  —  so  we,  awfully  anticipating  the 
cuisine  of  Connamara,  made  a  mighty  dinner  at  Galway. 
It  was  brought  to  us,  moreover,  by  a  dear  old  waiter,  who 
evidently  had  a  proud  delight  in  feeding  us,  as  though  he 
were  some  affectionate  sparrow,  and  we  his  callow  young, 
taking  off  the  covers  with  a  triumphant  air,  like  a  conjuror 
sure  of  his  trick,  and  pouring  out  our  Drogheda  ale,  with 
quite  as  much  respect  and  care  as  Ganymede  could  have 
shown  for  the  Gods. 

"Was  the  salmon  caught  this  morning,  waiter?" 

"  It  was,  sir.     Faith,  it's  not  two  hours  since  that  fish 


46  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

was  walking  round  his  estates,  wid  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  never  draming  what  a  pretty  invitashun  he'd  have 
to  jine  you  gintlemen  at  dinner." 

This  was  followed  by  a  small  saddle  of  "Arran  mutton, 
y'r  onner;"  and  "what  can  mortals  wish  for  more,"  ex- 
cept a  soupfon  of  cheese  ? 

Ah,  but  we  felt  almost  ashamed  of  being  so  full  and 
comfortable,  when  our  conversational  attendant  began  to 
talk  to  us  about  the  Great  Famine.  "  That's  right,  good 
gintlemen,"  he  said,  "  niver  forget,  when  ye've  had  yer 
males,  to  thank  the  Lord  as  sends  them.  May  ye  niver 
know  what  it  is  to  crave  for  food,  and  may  ye  niver  see 
what  I  have  seen,  here  in  the  town  o'  Galway.  I  mind 
the  time  when  I  lived  yonder  "  (and  he  pointed  to  Kilroy's 
Hotel),  "  and  the  poor  craturs  come  crawling  in  from  the 
country  with  their  faces  swollen,  and  grane,  and  yaller, 
along  of  the  arbs  they'd  been  ating.  We  gave  them  bits 
and  scraps,  good  gintlemen,  and  did  what  we  could  (the 
Lord  be  praised !),  but  they  was  mostly  too  far  gone  out 
o'  life  to  want  more  than  the  priest  and  pity.  I've  gone 
out  of  a  morning,  gintlemen,"  (his  lip  quivered  as  he 
spake),  "  and  seen  them  lying  dead  in  the  square,  with 
the  green  grass  in  their  mouths."  And  he  turned  away, 


THE    FAMINE. 


47 


(God  bless  his  kind  heart !),  to  hide  the  tears,  which  did 
him  so  much  honour. 

Can  history  or  imagination  suggest  a  scene  more  aw- 
fully impressive  than  that  which  Ireland  presented  in  the 
times  of  the  Great  Famine  ?  The  sorrows  of  that  visita- 
tion have  been  recorded  by  eloquent,  earnest  men ;  but 
they  come  home  to  us  with  a  new  and  startling  influence, 
when  we  hear  of  them  upon  Irish  ground.  Most  vividly 
can  we  realise  the  wreck,  when  he,  who  hardly  swam 
ashore  and  escaped,  points  to  the  scene  of  peril ;  and 
while  the  storm-clouds  still  drift  in  the  far  horizon,  and 
the  broken  timbers  float  upon  the  seething  wave,  describes, 
with  an  exactness  horrible  to  himself,  that  last  amaze- 
ment and  despair. 

In  the  beautiful  land  of  the  merry-hearted,  "all  joy 
was  darkened,— the  mirth  of  the  land  was  gone."  In  the 
country  of  song,  and  dance,  and  laughter,  there  was  not 
heard,  wherever  that  Famine  came,  one  note  of  music,  nor 
one  cheerful  sound, — only  the  gasp  of  dying  men,  and  the 
mourners'  melancholy  wail.  The  green  grass  of  the 
Emerald  Isle  grew  over  a  nation's  grave.  The  crown- 
ing plague  of  Egypt  was  transcended  here,  for  not 
only  in  some  districts,  was  there  in  every  house  "one 


48  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


dead,"  but  there  were  homes  in  which  there  was  but  one 
living — homes,  in  which  one  little  child  was  found,  call- 
ing upon  father,  mother,  brothers,  and  sisters,  to  wake 
from  their  last,  long  sleep,  —  homes,  from  which  the  last 
survivor  fled  away,  in  wild'  alarm,  from  those  whom  living 
he  had  loved  so  well.  Fathers  were  seen  vainly  endeav- 
ouring (such  was  their  weakness)  to  dig  a  grave  for  their 
children,  reeling  and  staggering  with  the  useless  spade  in 
their  hands.  The  poor  widow,  who  had  left  her  home 
to  beg  a  coffin  for  her  last,  lost  child,  fell  beneath  her 
burden  upon  the  road  and  died.  *.  The  mendicant  had 
now  no  power  to  beg.  The  drivers  of  the  public  cars 
went  into  cottages,  and  found  all  dead,  or  Rachel  weep- 
ing for  her  children,  and  praying  that  die  she  might.  By 
the  sea  side,  men  seeking  shell-fish,  fell  down  upon  the 
sands,  and,  impotent  to  rise,  were  drowned.  First  they 
began  to  bury  corpses,  coffinless,  then  could  not  bury  them 
at  all.  Of  indignities  and  mutilations,  which  then  befell,  I 
will  not,  for  I  cannot,  speak. 

Indeed,  it  may  be  asked,  wherefore  should  we  repeat 
at    all    these    sad,    heart-rending    details  ?      Because,    the 


*  See  a  most  interesting  article  on  the  "  Famine  in  the  South  of  Ireland,"  in 
Eraser's  Magazine,  for  April,  1847,  p.  499. 


THE     FAMINE. 


oftener  they  are  had  in  painful  remembrance,  the  less 
likely  they  are  to  recur  in  terrible  reality;  because — 

"  Never  did  any  public  misery 
Rise  of  itself ;  GOD'S  plagues  still  grounded  are 
On  common  stains  of  our  humanity  ; 

And  to  the  flame  which  ruineth  mankind 
Man  gives  the  matter,  or  at  least  the  wind  ;"  " 

and  because,  when  we  know  the  cause  and  the  symptoms, 
we  can  the  more  readily  prevent  and  prescribe. 

Every  one  knows,  of  course,  the  origin  of  the  Irish 
Famine. 

"The  blight  which  fell  upon  the  potato  produced  a 
deadly  famine,  because  the  people  had  cultivated  it  so 
exclusively,  that  when  it  failed,  millions  became  as  utterly 
destitute,  as  if  the  island  were  incapable  of  producing  any 
other  species  of  sustenance."  t  They,  "who  are  habitually 
and  entirely  fed  on  potatoes,  live  upon  the  extreme  verge 
of  human  subsistence,  and  when  they  are  deprived  of 
their  accustomed  food,  there  is  nothing  cheaper  to  which 
they  can  resort.  They  have  already  reached  the  lowest 
point  in  the  descending  scale,  and  there  is  nothing  beyond 
but  starvation  and  beggary."  } 

*  Fulke  Greville,  Lord  Brooke. 

t  Report  of  Census  Commissioners  for  Ireland. 

t  Edinburgh  Review,  No.  175,  p.  233. 

4 


50  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


The  remedy  is  just  as  clear, — to  induce  the  peasantry 
of  Ireland  no  longer  to  depend  upon  an  article  of  food, 
which  is  difficult  to  procure,  cumbrous  to  convey,  pos- 
sesses so  little  nourishment  that  it  must  be  consumed  in 
large  quantities,*  creates  a  strange  unhealthy  distaste  for 
other  food,t  is  subject  to  so  many  diseases  from  humidity 
and  frost,  and  which  has  wrought  such  grievous  desolation 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  \ 

How  that  remedy  is  to  be  applied,  let  legislators  and 
landlords  tell ;  meanwhile,  my  friend,  and  I,  having  sorrow- 
fully sipped  our  pint  of  sherry,  shall  essay  to  cheer  our- 
selves with  a  mild  cigar  and  a  farewell  walk  to  the  Claddagh. 

The  shades  of  eve  were  falling  fast,  as  we  set  forth,  and 
we  were  just  in  time  to  see  the  last  haul  of  the  nets,  and 
the  silver  salmon  lying  on  the  bank.  Then  we  revived  our 
spirits  by  a  little  conversation  with  young  Claddagh, 

*  The  evidence  taken  before  the  Poor  Law  Commissioners,  previously  to  the 
establishment  of  the  New  Poor  Law  in  Ireland,  proves  that  "ten  pounds,  twelve 
pounds,  and  even  fourteen  pounds  of  potatoes  are  usually  consumed  by  an  Irish 
peasant  each  day." — Letters  on  the  Condition  of  the  People  of  Ireland,  by  J.  Camp- 
bell Forster,  Esq.,  the  Times'  Commissioner. 

t  "  When  this  famine  was  at  the  worst  in  Connamara,  the  sea  off  the  coast 
there  teemed  with  turbot,  to  such  an  extent  that  the  laziest  of  fishermen  could  not 
help  catching  them  in  thousands;  but  the  common  people  would  not  touch  them," 
— Quarterly  Review,  vol.  Ixxxi.,  p.  435. 

\  Cobbett  called  the  potato,  that  "root  of  poverty." 


GALWAY   TO   OUGHTERARDE.  r, 


(merry  and  mischievous  urchins),  and  by  a  distribution  of 
copper,  every  half-penny  of  which  raised  such  a  tumulus 
of  rags  as  would  have  kept  a  paper  mill  at  work  for  weeks. 
Then — 


"  the  sun  set, 
And  all  the  land  was  dark. " 


CHAPTER  .VI. 


E  left  Galway  for  Clifden  at  9:30 
next  morning.  The  public  con- 
veyance is  a  large-paper  edition 
of  the  outside  car,  with  an  ele- 
vated seat  for  the  driver.  There 
is  one  place  to  be  avoided  on 
some  of  these  vehicles,  that  near- 
est to  the  horses  on  the  off-side,  on  account  of  the  iron  bar 
of  the  drag,  which  operates  from  time  to  time  very  disagree- 
ably on  the  back  and  shoulders  of  the  contiguous  traveller. 
The  scenery  gradually  increases  in  interest.  First  we  have 
trees,  farms,  houses  and  the  quiet  aspect  of  country  life  ;  then 
we  have  delightful  views  at  intervals,  of  Lough  Corrib  and  its 


52 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


islands,  and  the  landscape  becomes  diversified,  less  under  cul- 
ture, and  more  wild  in  consequence  ;  and,  lastly,  the  sublime 
and  solemn  beauty  of  the  mountains  and  lakes  of  Connamara. 
Some  of  the  residences  amused  us  greatly.  You  see 
a  large  lodge  by  the  wayside,  and  look  out,  in  the  dis- 
tance, for  some  princely  castle,  or  baronial  hall,  at  any 
rate ;  but  there  is  no  need  for  any  such  optical  exertion, 
the  mansion  being  close  to  you,  eighty  yards  perhaps 
from  the  entrance,  and  only  a  size  larger,  (a  small  size 
larger,  as  they  say  at  the  glove-shops),  than  the  lodge 
itself.  Some  of  the  gateways,  too,  would  have  been  very 
imposing,  if  most  of  their  principal  ornaments  had  not 
been  mutilated  or  missing.  Our  favourite,  among  the 
more  perfect  specimens,  was  adorned  with  a  stone  pine- 
apple on  one  pillar,  and  a  Swede-turnip  or  pumpkin  on  the 
other;  and  had  a  rich  effect.  Most  of  the  field-gates  have 
massive  pillars  of  stone,  and  would  render  the  inclosures 


PADDY    AT    HOME. 


S3 


most  secure,  if  there  were  not,  now  and  then,  easy  aper- 
tures through  the  turf-dykes,  which  form  the  fence  hard 
by,  suggesting  the  idea  of  a  front  door  barred  and  locked 
against  thieves,  with  one  of  the  hall-windows  wide  open  ! 

As  to  the  people, 
there  is  little  difference, 
so  far  as  appearance  is 
concerned,  between 
Paddy  in  England  and 
Paddy  at  home;  the 
same  flaccidity  of  hat; 
the  same  amplitude 
of  shirt -collar,  which 
would  cut  his  ears  off,  if 
it  were  severely  starch- 
ed ;  the  same  dress  coat 
of  frieze ;  drab  breeches  (aisy  at  the  knees),  grey-stockings, 
and  brogues.  The  same  in  aspect,  but  in  action  how  differ- 
ent !  In  England,  he  will  rise  with  the  sun,  reap  under  its 
burning  heat  until  it  sets,  and  dance  in  the  barn  at  midnight. 
In  Ireland,  he  seems  to  be  always  either  going  to  his  work, 
or  looking  at  his  work,  or  resting  from  his  work,  or  com- 
ing away  from  his  work,  in  brief,  to  be  doing  nothing,  cor- 


54  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


dially  assisted  by  his  friends  and  neighbours.  The  potatoes 
will  prevent  his  famishing  from  hunger,  if  the  season  be 
propitious ;  the  peat-stack  will  keep  him  from  perishing  by 
cold ;  and  His  Royal  Highness,  the  Pig,  will  pay  the  land- 
lord his  rent. 

The  women  are,  for  the  most  part,  goodlooking,  erect, 
and  graceful  movers  (for  there  are  no  corns  in  Con- 
naught)  ;  and,  from  the  bright  colours  of  their  costume, 
their  red  petticoats  and  blue  cloaks,  are  ever  a  pleasant 
refreshment  to  the  eye,  and  picturesque  addition  to  the 
scene.  They  are  uniformly  and  painfully  shy.  Francis, 
and  I,  are  both  of  us  what  may  be  termed  remarkably 
handsome  men,  but  they  wouldn't  look  at  us;  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  agony  of  a  young  housemaid,  who,  assist- 
ing the  waiter  one  morning  with  a  tub  of  water  to  my 
room,  caught  sight  of  my  dressing-gown  through  the  open 
door,  and  instantly,  though  the  garment  is  of  a  pleasing 
pattern,  and  descends  quite  to  the  ground,  rushed  off,  like 
Dorothea  from  Cardenio  and  his  companions,  and,  I  verily 
believe,  is  running  now. 

As  regards  children,  —  there  are  crosses  in  Ireland, 
which  are  saluted  by  wives,  who  would  be  mothers  also ; 
and  these  crosses,  or  something  equally  efficacious,  appear 


YOUXG    IRELANT). 


55 


to  be  universally  embraced.  Every  cottage  sent  forth  a 
running  accompaniment  (allegro]  to  the  car,  healthful, 
cheery  children,  and  would  be  beautiful,  in  spite  of  their 
wretched  homes,  and  meagre  diet,  and  rags,  if  their 
mothers  could  be  induced  to  recognise  the  utility  of  soap 
and  a  comb.  Their  raiment  is  very  scant  and  curious. 
Ould  Larry's  coat  with  the  tails  cut  off,  makes  young  Larry 
"an  entire  juvenile  suit,"  and  the  inexpressibles  of  Phelim 
pere  form  a  noble  panoply  for  Phelim  fils,  with  his  little 
arms  thrust  through  the  pocket-holes.  These  tatter- 
demalions beg  as  they  run  by  the  car,  but  seem  indifferent 
as  to  the  result,  enjoying  their  "  constitutional,"  and  part- 
ing from  us  with  a  pleasant  smile  whether  we  gave  to  them 
or  not.  Some  of  a  literary  turn  of  mind  asked  rather 
urgently  for  "  penny  buy  book,"  but  the  imposition  was  a 
little  too  patent,  so  very  far  from  a  bookseller's  shop,  and 
we  recommended  them  to  quench  their  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge in  the  only  volumes  to  be  perused  (and  that  gra- 
tuitously) in  the  neighbourhood,  the  "  books  in  the  running 
brooks." 

A  few  professional  beggars  come  round,  when  there  is 
a  change  of  horses  (excellent  horses  they  are),  but  are 
neither  so  frequent  nor  so  importunate,  as  we  had  been  led 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRKLAND. 


— .^.-~-^—  — ^X 


to  expect.  One  old  lady  had  evidently  got  the  last  new 
thing  in  begging,  a  letter  to  her  "  poor  darlint  boy  as  was 
gone  to  Merrikey,  and  would  ye  bestow  a  trifle,  good 
gintlemen,  to  pay  the  bit  o'  postage,  God  bless  yer  bewtifle 
young  faces."  Of  course,  we  would,  every  mother's  son  of 


IRISH    HOMES. 


us.  What  an  affectionate,  exemplary  parent !  When  we 
returned,  a  few  days  afterwards,  she  was  again  in  corre- 
spondence with  her  beloved  son,  far  away  from  her  yearn- 
ing  tenderness,  beyond  the  broad  Atlantic ;  and,  indeed,  I 
have  reason  to  believe  from  information  which  I  gathered 
from  the  driver  and  our  fellow-passengers,  that  this  discon. 
solate  mother  writes  to  her  exile  child  every  day,  except 
Sundays. 

The  miserable  huts  of  the  peasantry,  seen  by  the  feeble 
light  which  comes  through  the  doorway  and  smoke-hole 
(to  talk  about  chimneys  would  be  an  insult  to'architecture) 
give  one  the  idea,  not  so  much  that  the  pigs  have  got  into 
the  parlour,  but  that  the  family  have  migrated  to  the  sty. 
An  unpaved  clay  floor  below,  a  roof  of  straw  and  weeds, 
dank,  soaked,  and  rotting,  overhead,  a  miserable  bed  in  the 
corner,  an  iron  pot  over  a  peat  fire,  are  the  principal  items 
of  the  property.  Before  the  door  is  a  sink,  black  and 
filthy,  for  the  refuse.  And  yet  the  inmates  look  hale  and 
happy  beyond  what  one  would  hope  to  see,  and  the 
thought  at  once  suggests  itself,  how  much  might  be  accom- 
plished by  such  a  people,  awaking  to  assert  its  dignity,  and 
to  discharge  its  duty.  Here  and  there  are  roofless  cot- 
tages, gravestones,  on  which  is  written,  as  on  Albert 


58  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


Durer's,  "  Emigravit ;"  he  has  gone  to  seek  over  the  wide 
seas  the  comforts  which  here  he  could  not,  or  would  not, 
win  ;  or  he  has  gone  "  to  the  land,  which  is  very  far  off," 
to  hunger  and  thirst  no  more, — 

"  There  fell  upon  the  house  a  sudden  gloom, 
A  shadow  on  those  features  fair  and  thin; 
And  sofily.  from  that  hushed  and  darkened  room, 
Two  angels  issued,  where  hut  one  went  in." 

It  is  sad  indeed  to  see  these  monuments,  "  where 
memory  "  (as  an  Irish  poet  *  sings)  "  sits  by  the  altar  she 
has  raised  to"  woe,"  monuments  of  suffering  and  dearth, 
amid  scenes  of  surpassing  beauty,  and  fields  which  might 
stand  thick  with  corn,  but  where,  from  the  shameful  in- 
dolence of  His  creatures, 

"  In  vain,  with  lavish  kindness,  the  gifts  of  God  are  strewn." 

There  is  no  town  between  Galway  and  Clifden,  unless 
we  compliment  with  that  title  the  large  village  of 
Oughterarde,  pleasantly  situated  hard  by  Lough  Corrib, 
with  its  picturesque  bridge,  marvellously  transparent 
stream,  handsome  constables,  and  (comparatively  speaking) 
magnificent  church.  The  Roman  Catholic  churches  are, 

*  Curran. 


CHURCH    (K.  C.)    AT    OCGHTERARDF..  59 

for  the  most  part,  so  very  plain  and  poor,  having  little  but 
the  Cross,  and  a  melancholy  imitation  of  Gothic  mullions 
in  wood,  to  denote  their  consecration,  that  the  building 
of  Oughterarde  has  quite  an  imposing  effect,  and  we 
went  up  the  hill  to  see  it.  The  leisure  and  liberty  allowed 
to  passengers  by  car  are  amusingly  refreshing  in  these 
days  of  steam ;  and  I  thought,  as  we  sauntered  towards 
Sainte  Terre,  how  astonished  the  guard  of  an  express  train 
would  be,  to  behold  his  fellow-travellers  quietly  strolling 
off  to  inspect  the  cathedral,  at  Peterborough,  York,  or  Lin- 
coln. We  found  little  to  admire,  as  to  architecture  with- 
out, or  ornament  within ;  but  a  priest,  who  went  with  us 
from  the  car,  said  it  was  "  beautiful,"  and  looked  as  if 
to  him  it  was  so  indeed,  as  he  knelt  with  others  reverently 
praying  there.  I  thought  of  our  grand  old  churches  at 
home,  locked  and  barred,  most  of  them,  except  for  a  few 
hours  on  Sunday  (as  though  the  soul  should  be  treated, 
like  a  boa-constrictor,  with  six  days  sleep,  and  then  a  rab- 
bit) ;  'and  I  envied  that  poor  pilgrim  through  a  prayerless 
world  his  privilege  and  opportunity. 


60  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


CONNAMARA. 

Oughterarde  is  termed  the  entrance  to  Connamara, 
but  the  boundaries  seem  somewhat  undefined,  like  the 
sensations  induced  by  the  wildly  beautiful  scenery, 

"  The  vague  emotion  of  delight, 
While  climbing  up  some  Alpine  height.1' 

Measured  and  mapped  Connamara  may  be,  but  painted  or 
described  it  never  can.  Those  sublime  landscapes  of 
mountain,  moor,  and  mere,  are  photographed  on  the 
memory  for  ever,  but  cannot  be  reproduced  on  canvass ; 
and  a  great  master  of  art,  a  Michael  Angela  (TitmarsJi) 
throws  down  his  brush,  with  the  wise  confession,  "  all 
that  we  can  do  is  to  cry,  Beautiful  !"  Who  shall  take 
it  up,  and  paint  ?  Not  mine,  a  prentice  hand,  to  daub  a 
caricature  (about  as  like  the  original,  as  a  pastile  to 
Vesuvius,  or  a  "  cinder-tip  "  to  the  Himalayas)  of  those 
glorious  Irish  Alps,  of  the  Maum-Turk  mountains,  or  of 


CONNAMARA. 


Bina  Beola,  rising,  in  solemn  majesty,  amid  a  sea  of 
golden  and  roseate  flowers.  It  requires  a  confidence  which 
I  do  not  feel,  to  attempt  the  Hallelujah  Chorus  on  my 
penny  trumpet,  or,  where  Phidias  distrusts  his  chisel,  to 
commence  a  Colossus  with  my  knife  and  fork.  But  I 
shall  never  forget  our  silent  happiness,  a  happiness  like 
childhood's,  so  complete  and  pure,  as,  mile  after  mile,  we 
watched  the  sunlight  and  the  shadows,  sweeping  over 
hill,  and  lake,  and  plain,  (so  swiftly  that  every  minute  the 
whole  view  seemed  to  change),  and  saw  the  snow-white 
goats  among  the  purple  heath,  and  the  kine,  jet-black 
and  glowing  red,  knee-deep  in  the  silver  waters. 

But  there  are  minds  no  scenery  can  delight  or  awe. 
I  remember,  how,  travelling  by  rail,  one  glorious  morn- 
ing in  December,  the  trees  all  hoar  with  frost,  and  glit- 
tering against  a  sky  blue  as  the  turquoise,  I  met  a  Cock- 
ney gent,  who  condescendingly  surveyed  the  scene,  and 
said  that  "  it  reminded  him  of  Storr  and  Mortimer  s ! 
The  water  was  very  like  those  plate-glass  things,  which 
were  used  to  set  off  the  silver,  and  the  trees  a  good  deal 
resembled  the  candelabra  clustered  above."  And  he 
smiled  as  one  who  was  pleased  to  approve  the  article 
which  Nature  humbly  submitted  to  his  inspection,  and 


62  A    LITTLE    TOUR   IN    IRELAND. 

seemed,  out  of  his  overflowing  goodness,  to  pat  Crea- 
tion's head.  And  now,  seated  upon  the  box,  a  "  party  " 
from  Sheffield  insulted  that  pure  delicious  atmosphere 
with  very  villainous  "  shag,"  and  talked  as  flippantly  and 
without  restraint,  as  though  he  were  in  the  Chair  at 
"  The  Cutler's  Arms,"  presiding  over  a  Free-and-Easy. 
No  sooner  did  he  ascertain  from  ^he  driver  that  the 
grand  Highlands  before  us  were  known  as  "  The  Twelve 
Pins,"  than  he  desired  the  company  to  inform  him,  "what 
degree  of  relationship  existed  between  them  and  the 
Needles  off  the  Isle  of  Wight  ?"  a  genealogical  problem, 
which  would  have  been  received  with  a  due  and  digni- 
fied silence,  but  for  his  own  unrestrained  applause  and 
laughter.  Then  he  favoured  us  with  an  enigma,  "  Why 
have  them  pins  no  pints?  Because  they're  principally 
composed  of  quartz  ! "  His  geology  he  had  got  from  a 
guide-book,  out  of  which  he  treated  us  to  various  ex- 
tracts, appending  commentaries  of  his  own.  "  Miss  Mar- 
tineau  says  the  hair  'ere "  (of  course  he  transplanted 
every  /i)  "  is  very  like  breathing  cream.  Wonder  whether 
the  old  gal  meant  cream  of  the  valley,  or  milk-punch — 
ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  From  this  subject  he  passed  very  natur- 
ally to  mountain  dew,  and  the  illegal  manufacture  of 


CONNAMARA. 


whiskey,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  I  cannot 
help  loving  thee,  Still ;"  and  then  singing,  "  Still,  I  love 
thee,  Still,  I  love  thee/' — "  Farewell  thee  well,  and  if  for 
ever,  Still,  for  ever  fare  thee  well "  the  music  by  Mr 
Joseph  Miller),  until,  happily  for  us,  his  pipe  went  out, 
and  playfully  wondering  "  how  he  should  obtain  a  light, 
where  all  around  was  matchless,"  he  collapsed  into  a 
state  of  quiet  suction,  like  a  gold  fish  in  a  vase. 

Incidents,  in  a  country  unreclaimed  and  almost  unin- 
habited, must  necessarily  be  small  and  infrequent,  like  the 
currants  on  an  Irish  cake.  We  had  a  change  of  horses  at 
the  Half-way  House  (half-way  between  Oughterarde  and 
Ballinaliincli),  and  this  rapid  flight  of  horsemanship  was 
performed  something  under  the  half-hour.  I  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  interval  to  recline  on  the  green  sward  hard 
by,  and  commenced,  in  dreamy  enjoyment,  a  silent  ora- 
tion to  the  scenes  around.  "  O  Connamara"  I  began, 
"  non  amara,  sed  am&na  !  let  me  hear  and  heed  thy  ser- 
mons in  stones,  though  thine  own  sons  be  deaf  to  them. 
Alas  !  for  the  sad  contrast,  where  every  prospect  pleases, 
and  only  man  is  vile  !  *  Why  should  not  fields  of  golden 

*  Lord  Chesterfield  spoke  of  Ireland  as  "that  country  for  which  God  has 
done  so  much,  and  man  so  little." 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


corn,  and  orchards  heavy  with  fruit,  bring  plenty  from  thy 
fertile  plains  ?  Why  should  rank  weeds,  rag-wort,  and 
loose  strife,  (evil  signs  and  sounds  !)  usurp  thy  untilled  soil, 
a  'soyle  most  fertile,"  as  old  Spenser  saith,  'fit  to  yielde 
all  kinde  of  fruit  that  shall  be  committed  thereunto?'' 
And  the  answer  which  I  heard,  "awaking  with  a  start" 
from  my  reverie,  was  a  surly  grunt  close  to  my  ear,  and  a 
loud  laugh  from  Frank,  who  thus  perpetuated  the  tableau 
•vivant  : 


We  lunched  at  "  The  Recess"  a  pleasant  little  inn  (with 
a  cheerful  landlady  and  civil  waitress),  but  somewhat  damp 


CONNAMARA. 


withal ;  for  Ireland  is  "  the  Niobe  of  nations,"  *  and,  as  the 
beautiful  bride  of  the  Atlantic,  ofttimes  weeps  in  her  west- 
ern home,  when  her  husband  is  at  low  water,  or  subject  to 
lunar  influence.  But  there  is  no  time  for  metaphor  or 
meteorology,  the  cutler  having  already  scooped  the  interior 
from  the  heads  of  both  the  lobsters,  and  it  being  quite 
necessary  to  propose  some  saving  clause  to  this  sweeping 
Act  of  shellfishness.  "  I  am  no  gastronomer,"  as  the  old 
lady  observed,  when  they  asked  her  to  go  out  and  see 
the  comet,  but  I  do  acknowledge,  in  unison  with  the  major- 
ity of  my  fellowmen,  the  powerful  fascinations  of  lobster ; 
and  I  shall  not  shrink  from  the  confession,  that  our  feel- 
ings, as  we  witnessed  this  gross  monopoly,  were  hot  and 
acid  as  the  pepper  and  the  vinegar,  which  was  almost  all 
he  left  us.  At  the  same  time,  it  may  be  said,  in  mitiga- 
tion of  his  ill-taste  and  our  ill-temper,  that  the  love  of 
the  lobster  has  ere  now  troubled  the  equanimity  of  greater 
and  better  men ;  and  I  have  seen  a  most  noble  Duke  to 
scowl  malignantly  at  an  unconscious  Earl,  whose  plate 

*  "If,"  writes  Mr.  Young,  in  his  Tour  in  Ireland,  "as  much  rain  (ell  upon 
the  clays  of  England  as  upon  the  rocks  of  the  sister  country,  they  could  not  be 
cultivated.  '  I  should  doubt  this,  taking  into  account  our  modern  improvements 
as  to  drainage  ;  but,  at  all  events,  it  is  evident  that  "  the  humidity  of  the  climate 
renders  Ireland  decidedly  better  fitted  for  a  grazing  than  for  an  agricultural 
country."— See  M'Culloch's  Statistical  Account  of  British  Empire,  ed.  a.  vol.  U. 
p.  367. 


66  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


preceded  his  own.  But  all  ended  well,  for  our  greedy 
knife-grinder  having  finished  his  lobster,  two  bottles  of 
Guinness,  one  ditto  Bass,  and  a  go  of  whiskey  "  for  luck," 
had  scarcely  ascended  the  box,  and  favoured  us  with  that 
assurance  of  plethory,  which  the  Chinese  expect  as  a 
compliment  from  all  well-bred  (and  well-fed)  guests,  than 
his  head  began  slowly  to  fall  and  rise,  like  a  large  float, 
lazily  influenced  by  some  undecided  fish ;  and  he  only  in- 
truded himself  upon  our  silent  admiration  of  that  magnifi- 
cent scenery  with  occasional  imitations  of  swine  asleep. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  Martins  ruled  in  Con- 
namara,  and  Ballinahirich,  which  we  now  pass,  was  the 
palace  of  Richardus  Rex;  when  Lord  Lieutenants  were 
told  plainly,  that  the  excellent  claret  they  were  drinking 
had  done  its  duty  without  discharging  it;  and  gaugers, 
bailiffs,  writ-servers,  and  the  like,  were  as  rare  upon  the 
mountains  as  the  Irish  elk.  The  estate  extended  to 
Oughterarde,  some  six  and  twenty  miles  away,  and  "  Mar- 
tin's Gate-house"  is  shown  there  still;  but  extravagance 
and  neglect  brought  all  to  the  hammer  at  last,  and  the  very 
name  of  Martin  will  soon  only  survive,  in  its  association 
with  the  humane  Act  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to  ani- 
mals, which  was  originated  by  the  Lord  of  Ballinahinch. 


CONNAMARA. 


The  Law  Life  Insurance  Company  are  now  the  owners 
of  this  property,  and  are  making,  we  were  informed,  very 
great  improvements.  There  can  scarcely  be  an  estate 
more  capable  thereof.  The  immense  extent  of  bogland 
presents  an  excellent  "fall"  for  the  drainer;  and  a  large 
quantity  of  it,  lying  upon  limestone,  would  grow  any 
amount  of  pasture  or  of  cereal  produce.  (The  monosyl- 
lable corn  would  be  equally  expressive,  but  it  looks  "  mean 
and  poky,"  as  Martha  Penny  said  of  the  Protestant  religion, 
when  compared  with  "  cereal  produce"}  Then  there  is 
abundance  of  manure  close  by,  in  the  sea-weed  and  coral- 
sand  ;  and  under  the  soil  lie  rich  veins  of  marble,  rose 
colour,  and  yellow,  and  white,  and  green ;  and  of  which 
you  may  purchase  specimens  from  the  little  merchants 
who  come  round  the  car.  But  where,  it  may  well  be 
asked,  are  the  hands  to  ply  the  mattock  and  pick  ?  For 
famine,  and  ejection,  and  the  Exodus,  have  swept  away 
the  working  men ;  and  though  it  is  evident,  from  the 
number  of  children,  that  great  efforts  are  being  made  to 
repopulate  the  country,  there  seems  to  be  no  staff  on  the 
spot  for  any  large  undertakings.  *  But  men  are  to  be 

*  According  to  the  Report  of  the  Registrar-General,  the  population  has 
decreased  to  the  number  of  half  a  million  since  the  Census  of  1851. 

By  the  middle  of  1888  it  was  estimated  that  the  population  of  Ireland  had  de- 
creased to  4.777,534.  (consisting  of  2,340,978  males  and  2,436,556  females),  and  by 
the  middle  of  i8?g  to  4.730,533.— Chambers  Encyclo.  Vol.  17.  1890. 


68  A    LITTLE    TOUR   IN    IRELAND. 


found  when  they  are  wanted  by  master-minds ;  and  the 
Irish  and  English  labourers,  instead  of  deserting  for 
America  and  Australia  a  land  so  full  of  promise,  *  would 
readily  be  induced,  by  leaders  of  energy  and  capital,  to 
appropriate  advantages  nearer  home.  The  sale  of  encum- 
bered estates  (one  of  the  cleverest,  cleanest  cuts,  that 
surgeon  ever  made,  to  save  his  patient  from  mortification), 
amply  justifies  the  healthful  hope  that  English  and  Scotch 
farmers  t  will  soon  be  numerous  upon  Irish  soil,  not  to 
become,  like  the  Norman  visitors  of  yore,  "  ipsis  Hibernis 
Hiberniores"  but  to  inoculate  Paddy  with  their  own  activ- 
ity and  earnestness,  and  to  persuade  him,  just  for  once  and 
by  way  of  a  change,  to  work  in  his  own  land,  as  he  can 
and  will  in  any  other.  The  Saxon  says  that  the  Celt  (how 
one  despises  those  malicious  nicknames,  stereotyping  hate, 
and  perpetuating  a  lie,  as  if  there  were  a  true  Celt  or  Saxon 
extant !)  that  the  Celt  will  shoot  him ;  and,  perhaps,  he 
may,  if  nothing  is  done  to  conciliate,  but  everything  to 
offend  his  prejudices.  Those  prejudices  are  the  growth  of 

*  See  Letters  from  The  Times'  Commissioner,  ed.  2,  p.  271,  and  The  Saxon  in 
Ireland,  chapter  x. 

t  "  Why  are  there  so  many  more  Scotch  than  English  ?  It  appears  that  there 
are  756  '  Britishers'  agriculturally  settled  in  Ireland,  and  of  these  660  are  natives 
of  Scotland."-  Agricultural  and  Social  State  of  Ireland  in  1858,  by  Thomas  Miller. 


CONNAMARA.  69 


ages,  and  will  not  vanish  before  slang  and  compulsion,  but 
only  before  goodness,  teaching  by  example  a  better  and  a 
happier  way.  If  I  wish  to  propitiate  a  high-spirited  un- 
broken steed,  not  warranted  free  from  vice,  and  can  do  so 
by  checking  him  sharply  with  the  curb,  and  by  sticking  in 
both  spurs,  without  ruining  the  horse,  and  finding  myself  in 
a  position  to  take  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  firmament, 
Mr.  Rarey  and  reason  plead  in  vain.  John  Bull  is  a  mag- 
nificent fellow,  but  his  mere  repetition  of  "curse  the  Pope" 
will  do  no  more  to  evangelise  mankind  than  Grip  the 
Raven's  "  I'm  a  Protestant  kettle ;"  nor  can  we  specify  any 
signal  blessings  as  likely  to  accrue  to  the  human  race, 
when  "  Sawney,  with  his  Calvinistic  creed  in  the  one  hand, 
and  allaying  irritation  with  the  other,"  denounces  smiling 
on  Sunday  as  a  deadly  sin,  or  goes 

"  Bellowing,  and  breathing  fire  and  smoke, 
At  crippled  Papistry  to  butt  and  poke, 
Exactly  as  a  skittish  Scottish  bull 
Hunts  an  old  woman  in  a  scarlet  cloak." 

Were  I  desirous  to  impress  upon  the  people  of  Con- 
naught  the  advantages  of  protecting  their  feet  with  leather, 
I  should  scarcely  proceed  to  demonstrate  my  proposition 
by  kicking  them  with  hob-nailed  boots;  and  although 


70  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

bread  as  an  article  of  food  is  vastly  superior  to  potatoes, 
few  men  would  essay  to  enforce  this  argument  by  pelting 
the  peasantry  with  quartern  loaves. 

The  Saxon  says  that  the  Celt  will  shoot  him ;  and 
nothing  can  be  more  vile  and  despicable  than  those  cow- 
ardly murders  which  disgrace  Ireland.  But  we  must  not 
forget,  in  our  righteous  horror,  that  our  own  capital  con- 
victions are  thrice  as  numerous,  according  to  population,  as 
those  in  the  sister-country ;  and,  though  this  does  not 
denote  the  exact  proportion  of  crime,  because  conviction 
in  Ireland  is  far  more  difficult  than  with  us,  it  may  still 
suggest  a  wholesome  restraint,  when  we  are  minded  to  sit 
in  judgment  upon  others. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


CLIFDEN. 

WE  arrived  at  Carr's  Hotel,  in  Clifden,  between  5  and 
6  P.  M.,  and  strolled  down  the  main  street  before  dinner. 
The  white-washed  houses  are  much  less  miserable  than  the 
cottages  we  had  seen  in  the  country,  but  we  can  give  no 


CLIFDEN. 


more  than  negative  praise,  the  general  aspect  of  the  town 
being  dreary  enough.  There  are  happy  associations, 
nevertheless,  connected  with  it,  for  the  whole  place  arose 
from  a  benevolent  attempt  of  Mr.  D'Arcy,  once  the  owner 
of  Clifden  Castle,  to  improve  the  condition  and  evoke  the 
energies  of  his  neighbours  ;  and  though  the  estate  has 
passed  into  other  hands,  a  D'Arcy  still  maintains,  as  pastor 
of  the  people,  an  honoured  name  for  charity  and  zeal. 
After  dinner  we  had  a  most  delightful  ramble  on  the  cliffs, 
which  overlook  the  bay  ;  for  Clifden  is  built  at  the  centre 
of  one  of  those  numerous  indentations  in  the  land, 

"  Where  weary  waves  retire  to  gleam  at  rest," 

and  which  give  the  name  Connamara,  i.  e.,  "  the  bays  of 
the  sea  "  It  was  one  of  those  evenings,  sunlit  and  serene, 
which  whisper  gratitude  and  peace.  There  seemed  to  be 
a  glad  smile  on  land  and  sea,  as  the  golden  light  fell  in  soft 
splendour  on  the  purple  hills,  and  the  pleasant  breeze 
awoke  upon  the  waters 

"  novnwv 
avrfpi6j4ov 


Thus  prettily  transferred  by  the  Irish  poet,  Moore:— 
"  I.  ike  any  fair  lake  that  the  breeze  is  upon, 
While  it  breaks  into  dimples,  and  laughs  in  the  sun." 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IX    IRELAND. 


(Yes,  good  critic,  I  know  it  is  only  a  school-boy's  quota- 
tion, but  it  is  too  beautiful  to  be  ever  quite  used-up,  and 
is,  at  all  events,  excusable  in  an  under  graduate,  "  taking 
up,"  among  other  books  for  his  Degree,  the  sublime 
Tragedy  of  Prometheus  Bottnd.}  There  was  no  sound  ex- 
cept the  curlew's  note,  when  suddenly  we  heard,  far  down 
from  the  sea  below  us,  the  loud  splash  of  water,  and  voices 
singing,  amid  merry  laughter,  strange  songs  in  an  unknown 
tongue.  Gracious  Heavens,  what  were  we  to  see  !  We 
were  on  Irish  ground ;  the  stillness  and  the  solitude,  so 
wildly  broken,  encouraged  all  our  superstitious  fancies ; 


CLIFDEN.  ,, 

and  everything  we  had  read  and  heard  of  Bogies,  Banshees, 
Kelpies,  and  Co.,  came  hack  to  our  astonied  souls.  Were 
we,  really,  to  witness  something  supernatural  at  last,  some- 
thing, which,  when  we  got  home,  should  make  the  teeth 
of  our  neighbours  chatter,  and  cause  the  hair  to  stand  up 
on  our  relations'  heads  ?  Perhaps,  we  were  to  contem- 
plate the  merman  bold,  playing  (the  insidious  rascal ! ) — 

"  With  the  mermaids,  in  and  out  of  the  rocks, 
Dressing  their  hair  with  the  white  sea-fiower, 
And  holding  them  back  with  their  flowing  locks." 

With  beating  hearts  and  bated  breath,  we  crawled  to  the 
edge  of  the  precipice,  and  there  saw,  to  our  intense  delight, 
four  of  the  jolliest  constables  in  the  world,  swimming,  div- 
ing, floating,  spluttering,  shouting,  and  singing,  until  one 
longed  to  run  back  a  few  yards,  plunge  in,  like  Cassius, 
without  undressing,  and  join  in  their  jolly  gymnastics. 
Really,  they  are  glorious  fellows  !  Were  I  to  undertake 
any  distant  or  dangerous  expedition  (and  indeed,  Frank 
and  I  have  been  so  much  gratified  by  our  sailor-like 
deportment,  between  Holyhead  and  Kingstown,  that  we 
think  seriously  of  going  round  the  world  in  a  yacht),  I 
should  vastly  like  to  take  half  a  dozen  of  them  with  me , 
and  I  should  not  be  the  first  who  had  so  thought  and  acted. 


74  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Walking  on,  we  came  in  sight  of  Clifden  Castlet  a 
good-looking  modern  residence,  lying  low  in  the  valley, 
and  well  screened  by  timber  from  the  rough  sea-wind. 
Here  the  view  is  beautiful  exceedingly,  and  we  sat  among 
the  heather,  and  gazed  upon  it, 

"  till  the  sun 

Grew  broader  toward  his  death,  and  fell;  and  ail 
The  rosy  heights  came  out  above  the  lawns." 

Then  we  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  there  found  our  friend 
the  cutler  considerably  advanced  in  liquor,  making  a  most 
disconnected  oration  to  a  select  audience,  in  which,  among 
many  other  statements  unhappily  forgotten,  he  informed 
us: — "That  he  was  hopen  to  show  pigeons,  either  Tur- 
bits,  Pouters,  or  Short-faced  Mottles,  against  any  man  in 
Hengland,  bar  two ;  that  Ireland  was  nothing  but  a  big 
bog,  and  he  should  rather  expect  as  ow  no  party,  as 
wasn't  a  snipe,  would  ever  come  there  twice ;  that  he 
would  play  hany  gent,  as  was  agreeable  so  to  do,  either 
at  quoits  or  skittles,  for  the  valley  of  a  new  'at;"  (being 
rather  a  dab  with  the  discus,  I  was  about  to  accept  his 
challenge,  when  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  absence  of 
the  implements  struck  me  as  being  "  staggerers  "  not  to 
be  surmounted,  and,  therefore,  I  held  my  peace) ;  "  that, 


BLADES    OK    SHEFFIELD. 


has  no  party  seem'd  hup  to  nothing,  he  should  beg  to  pro- 
pose  'ealth  and  prosperity  to  the  firm  of  Messrs.  Strop  and 
Blades  (I'm  Blades)  ;  and  should  conclude  by  hexpressing 
his  ope,  that  the  cock-eyed  gent  in  the  corner  would  hen- 
liven  the  meeting  with  a  comic  song."  The  proprietor  of 
the  insubordinate  eye  having  very  briefly  expressed  himself 
to  the  effect,  that  he  would  see  the  company  consigned  to 
perdition,  rather  than  indulge  it  with  mirthful  music,  Mr. 
Blades  commenced  a  concert  on  his  own  account  ;  and  we 
ventured  to  go  to  bed,  in  spite  of  the  singer's  solemn  warn- 
ing that  any  person  retiring,  in  a  state  of  sobriety,  to  his 
couch,  would  "  fall  as  the  leaves  do,  fall  as  the  leaves  do, 
fall  as  the  leaves  do,  that  die  in  October." 


Nemesis  was  the  daughter  of  Nox ;  and  poor  Blades 
looked  miserably  ill,  when  he  came  down  next  morning  to 
breakfast — no,  not  to  break  fast,  but  only  to  wish  he  could. 
At  daybreak  we  had  heard  sounds  of  soda-water,  but 
Schweppe  had  striven  in  vain.  The  fact  is,  that  whiskey, 
like  love,  can  "  brook  no  rival  near  its  throne,"  and 
Kinahan,  and  Bass,  and  Guinness  were  at  war  all  over 
Blades.  We  scarcely  knew  him  again,  as  he  sat  in  rueful 


76-  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


contemplation   of  an  egg,  which  he  had  accepted,  hoping 
against  hope,  but  had  now  no  strength  to  crack  : — 

"  For  his  heart  was  hot  and  restless, 
And  his  life  was  full  of  care : 
And  the  burden  laid  upon  him 
Seemed  greater  than  he  could  bear." 

Had  he  been  Tyndarus,  and  the  egg  before  him  one 
of  Leda's,  he  could  not  have  looked  at  it  with  a  more  fixed 
and  mystified  expression ;  or  he  might  have  been  reflecting 
sorrowfully  upon  that  fatal  goose  egg,  which,  long  before 
the  Norman  Conquest,  had  wrought  such  woes  on  Ire- 
land. I  will  venture,  at  all  events,  to  repeat  the  legend. 
Domhnall,  the  king,  having  invited  Congal,  his  foster-son, 
together  with  the  principal  swells  of  his  court,  to  a  grand 
banquet  (though  he  had  been  warned  by  Maelcobba,  a 
celebrated  monk  and  fortune-teller,  to  do  nothing  of  the 
kind),  sent  out  his  purveyors  to  procure  a  supply  of  deli- 
cacies in  general,  and  of  goose  eggs  in  particular.  Now 
there  lived,  in  the  county  of  Meath,  a  Bishop  Ere  of  Slaine, 
who  spent  his  days  in  the  river  Boyne,  immersed  up  to  his 
arm-pits,  and  reading  his  psalter,  which  lay  upon  the  bank. 
Whether  he  entertained  hopes  of  being  translated  to  the 
see  of  Bath  and  Wells,  and  was  under  a  course  of  prepara- 


THE    FATAL   GOOSE-EGG. 


77 


tory  training,  or  whether  he  had  a  prescient  belief  in  the 
water-cure,  or  whatever  his  motives  may  have  been,  thus 
he  passed  his  mornings  (to  the  immense  edification  of  his 
diocese,  and  with  nothing  on  but  his  mitre),  and  then  went 
home  to  dine.  One  evening  he  had  hurried  to  his  hermit- 
age, a  little  ruffled  in  temper,  having  been  very  disrespect- 
fully accosted  during  the  day  by  some  boatmen,  who  had 
hit  him  in  the  eye  with  a  decayed  pear,  but  consoling  him- 
self with  the  prospect  of  his  favourite  dinner,  namely,  "  a 
goose  egg  and  a  half,  and  three  sprigs  of  water-cresses," 
when  he  was  dismayed  to  find  his  establishment  (which  con- 
sisted of  an  elderly  charwoman)  in  tears,  and  to  hear  that  the 
king's  purveyors  had  been,  and  poached  his  eggs  for  him. 
Then  (the  chroniclers  proceed  to  tell)  the  Bishop  he 
"  cussed,  and  eke  swore  hee,  verrye  bewtifulle."  He  excom- 
municated the  auxiliary  gander  and  put  the  goose  under 
a  perpetual  pip,  "  bekase,"  said  he,  "  if  they'd  niver  layed 
them,  and  she  (the  charwoman)  had  only  popped  them 
under  the  bedclothes,  he'd  bet  six  to  four  they'd  niver  been 
found."  But  he  was  grandest  of  all,  when  he  cursed  the 
eggs,  shell,  white,  and  yolk,  solemnly  imploring  complete 
and  speedy  suffocation  upon  any  party  who  should  stick 
a  spoon  in  them.  And  his  anathemas,  we  read,  were  so 


78  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


far  fruitful,  that,  on  the  night  of  the  King's  banquet,  Con- 
gal's  goose  egg  changed,  as  he  was  gloating  over  it,  into 
a  common  hen  egg,  whereupon  he  was  so  greatly  exas- 
perated, that  he  felt  himself  under  the  necessity  of  slash- 
ing at  his  neighbours  indiscriminately  with  a  drawn  sword ; 
a  general  battle  ensued  ;  and  "  Ireland  was  not  for  one  night 
thenceforward  in  the  enjoyment  of  peace  or  tranquillity."  * 
Blades,  I  say,  might  have  been  meditating  mournfully 
on  this  accursed  egg,  but,  whether  or  no,  there  he  sat ;  and 
Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own.  Quantum  imetatus! 
The  remains  of  a  fire  balloon,  soaked  and  rusting  in  some 
long  damp  grass,  not  less  resemble  the  gaudy  globe, 
which  went  up  yesternight ;  and  never  can  I  obliviate  the 
agony  of  his  expression,  as  the  waiter  presented  a  large 
dish  of  bacon  in  close  proximity  to  his  nose. 

"  A  moment  o'er  his  face 
A  tablet  of  unutterable  thoughts  was  traced, 
And  then,"' 

with  a  groan,  which  won  all  our  sympathy,  "  abiit,  excessit, 
evasit,  erupit"  Anglice,  poor  Blades,  he  bolted  ! 

*  From  The  Banquet  of  Dun  na-gedh,  and  the  Baitle  of  Magh  Rath.  Trans- 
lated from  the  original  Irish  by  John  O'Donovan.  Printed  for  the  Irish  Archaeo- 
logical Society. 


KYLEMORK 


. 


We  also,  having  contributed  to  Mr.  Carr's  Album 
autographs,  which  will,  no  doubt,  be  ultimately  sold  at  sixty 
guineas  a- piece,  (say  pounds,  if  you  take  the  pair)  pro- 
ceeded by  the  car  to  Kylemorc 


CHAPTER    IX. 


KVLEMORE. 

HE  scenery  on  leaving  Clifden  is 
for  a  time  bleak  and  monotonous, 
but  soon  becomes  varied  and 
beautiful.  You  pass,  by  Streams- 
town  and  Ballittakill,  through 
the  pleasant  village  of  Letter- 
„  Frack,  with  its  pretty  cottages, 
fuchsia-hedges,  and  general  look 
of  neatness  and  comfort,  which 
it  owes  to  Mr.  Ellis,  an  English  resident,  and  who, 
(so  it  was  told  to  me,  as  our  friend  Herodotus  hath  it>  is 
much  respected,  although  a  Quaker,  by  the  Rom.m 


~»t??t>». — s. 


8o  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


Catholics  around.  Between  this  place  and  Kylemore,  you 
enter  upon  one  of  the  grandest  scenes,  to  my  taste,  to  be 
found  in  all  Connamara,  a  kind  of  mountain  pass,  with  the 
rocks  rising  to  a  great  height,  in  huge  blocks  and  broken 
masses,  piled  one  above  another,  and  sometimes  jutting 
over  the  road  in  fearful  contiguity,  densely  timbered  from 
base  to  summit,  the  gray  stone  contrasting  beautifully  with 
the  bright  green  foliage  of  the  trees.  Here  the  eagles 
build,  and  had  become  so  numerous,  (so  our  driver  said), 
that  the  owner  had  had  recourse  to  poison.  It  sounded 
awfully  in  our  ears,  like  trapping  a  fox  or  shooting  an  alba- 
tross ;  and,  surely,  if  the  king  of  birds  may  be  slain  (and  I 
cannot  deny  that  his  majesty's  conduct,  in  perpetually  fly- 
ing off  with  lambs,  is  open  to  some  criticism)  he  might  fall 
more  nobly  to  the  rifle  of  the  sportsman. 

We  reached  the  solitary  inn  by  Kylemore  Lake  for 
luncheon ;  and  I  purposely  make  these  memoranda  about 
meals,  and  take  my  time  from  the  kitchen  clock,  because 
the  delightful  air  of  Connamara  very  speedily  induces  that 
vacuum,  which  nature  and  the  tourist  yearn  to  fill.  So 
Frank  and  I  danced  in  triumph  around  our  undisputed 
lobster,  Blades  languishing  at  Clifden,  and  a  fellow  pas- 
senger, who  had  stopped  at  Kylemore,  and  whom,  being 


KYLKMORE. 


almost  hairless,  we  distinguished  as  "  Balder  the  Beautiful," 
having  previously  lunched,  as  we  came  along,  upon  the 
largest  biscuit  I  ever  met  with,  and  which,  when  he  first 
produced  it,  we  both  of  us  mistook  for  a  Fox-and-Goose 
board.  Contemplating  the  shell  and  other  debris,  in  a  state 
of  placid  phethora,  and  reflecting,  in  a  spirit  of  tooth-pick 
philosophy,  what  a  glorious  economy  it  would  be  for  us 
undergraduates,  and  what  a  grim  despair  for  the  tailors, 
if  we,  like  the  lobster,  could  annually  cast  our  clothing,  and 
reappear,  as  he  does,  in  customary  suit  of  solemn  black, 
without  any  pecuniary  investment,  —  I  was  startled  by  the 
wild  conduct  of  Francis,  who,  suddenly  springing  from  his 
chair,  and  favouring  me  with  a  slap  upon  the  back,  which 
immediately  induced  a  determination  of  bitter  beer  to  the 
head,  exclaimed,  at  the  very  apex  of  his  voice,  "  And  now, 
old  cock,  for  a  salmon  .'"  Forthwith  he  entered  into  solemn 
consultation  with  our  worthy  host,  Mr.  Duncan,  and  pro- 
duced for  his  inspection  a  small  library  of  Fly-books.  Alas, 
the  inspector  looked  grave  and  shook  his  head,  as  an  ex- 
aminer surveying  infirm  Latin.  "  One  or  two  might  raise 
a  fish ;"  but  this  was  said  in  a  tone,  which  quite  convinced 
me,  that,  unless  Frank  should  come  across  a  salmon,  which 
happened  to  be  helplessly  drunk,  his  entomological  sped- 


82  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

mens  should  be  treated  with  most  profound  contempt. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  Mr.  D.'s  own  flies  had  been  stolen, 
during  a  recent  illness,  by  his  visitors ;  and,  indeed,  as  they 
were  kept,  with  true  Irish  liberality,  in  the  hall  of  the  inn, 
one  can  scarcely  wonder  at  the  felonious  fact.  But  he  was 
determined,  the  weather  being  most  propitious,  and  the 
lake  full  of  "  fish,"  (not  to  mention  the  white  trout,  of  which 
there  is  abundance)  that  Frank  should  not  be  disappointed, 
and  forthwith  commenced  the  operation,  most  interesting 
to  me  who  had  never  seen  it,  of  "tying  a  fly."  He  began 
with  a  bare  hook,  a  piece  of  fishing  gut,  and  a  few  bits  of 
silk  and  feathers ;  and  lo,  in  about  three  minutes,  there 
issued  from  his  consummate  manipulation  a  gorgeous  fly, 
so  beautiful,  and,  withal,  so  plump  and  appetising,  that  for 
a  salmon  to  see  it  was  to  look  and  die.  Then  armed  with 
a  gaff",  which  would  have  landed  a  sturgeon,  or  made  a 
glorious  pastoral  staff  for  His  Grace  the  Archbishop  of 
Brobdingnag,  and  which  was  borne  before  him,  as  the 
crozier  of  Saint  Grellan  was  carried  before  the  tribes  of 
Hy-Many,  when,  ages  ago,  they  conquered  here  in  Con- 
naught,  away  went  Frank  to  his  boat;  and  I,  rodless,  to 
wander,  wondering,  among  the  great  mountains  and  to  cull 
a  bouquet  of  ferns  and  flowers.  This  I  had  just  arranged 


KYLEMORE. 


satisfactorily,  and  was  thinking  how  admirably  that  little 
wayside  rush  (epiphoruni),  with  its  snow-white  silky  flag, 
would  serve  for  some  Lilliputian  clerk  of  the  course  to  drop 
before  a  ruck  of  fairy  jocks,  and  start  them  for  a  Queen 
Mab's  Plate,  when  a  ringing  shout  in  the  distance,  which 
might  have  been  emitted  by  a  triumphant  fox-hunter,  or 
by  an  Indian  scalping  his  foe,  drew  my  attention  to  the 
lake,  and  I  could  see  dear  old  Frank  standing  in  the  boat, 
and  holding  up  a  glorious  salmon,  with  its  silver  scales  glit- 
tering in  the  sun.  Hurrying  back,  I  was  just  in  time  to 
meet  the  conquering  hero  as  he  came  ashore ;  and  I  am 
quite  sure  that  neither  Julius  Caesar,  nor  any  other  human 
being,  ever  landed  with  greater  dignity.  Had  he  been  com- 
ing to  weigh  after  winning  "  the  Liverpool,"  or  into  the  Pa- 
vilion at  Lords'  after  an  innings  of  five  hundred,  he  could 
not  have  looked  more  happy  and  glorious,  and  I  felt  it  a 
privilege  to  strew  the  path  he  trod  upon  with  three  bits  of 
heather  and  my  pocket  handkerchief. 

There  was  an  amusing  little  dialogue,  as  he  left  his  bark  : 
"Boatman!"   quoth    the    illustrious   fisherman,    "how 
much  is  the  boat  ?" 

"  Sure,  your  'onour,  the  boat'll  be  in  the  bill.     Your 
'onotir'll  give  the  boatman  what  you  please." 


84  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


"But  what  is  generally  given  ?" 

"  Well,  your  'onour,  some'll  give  two  shillings,  and 
some  eighteen  pince.  A  tailor  d  be  for  giving  eighteen 
pince." 

How  much  Frank  gave,  I  know  not ;  but  from  the  ex- 
pression of  satisfaction,  which  brightened  the  faces  of  his 
aquatic  friends,  I  infer  that  he  exceeded  in  munificence  a 
whole  street  of  tailors.  And,  indeed,  he  was  bound  so  to 
do,  since,  in  our  eyes,  "was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone 
so  fair,"  as  we  bore  it  in  triumph  to  our  inn ;  and  I  sang, 
in  the  joy  of  my  heart,  to  the 

Air  "  They  may  rail  at  this  Life." 

They  may  rail  at  this  land,  they  may  slander  and  slang  it, 
But  we've  found  it  a  land  to  admire  and  enjoy; 
And  until  they  convince  us  au  contraire,  why,  hang  it, 
We  will  speak  as  we  find,  won't  we,  Frank,  my  dear  boy? 
So  long  as  Kylemore  has  such  lakes  and  such  fishing, 
As  from  Duncan's  Hotel  at  this  moment  \ve  see, 
And  of  salmon  for  dinner  we  bring  such  a  dish  in, — 
Connamard's  the  planet  for  you,  Frank,  and  me  ! 

So  we  carried  it  to  the  kitchen,  where  it  cost  my  friend 
no  little  effort  to  transfer  his  captive  to  the  cook ;  and  I  am 
quite  convinced,  that  could  he  have  escaped  ridicule,  he 
would  have  preferred  to  take  that  fish  to  bed  with  him.  I 


KYLEMORE.  85 


am  glad  he  did  not ;  for  a  firmer,  flakier,  curdier  salmon 
never  gladdened  a  table  d'hote,  and  there  were  "  lashings 
and  lavings"  for  our  party  of  eight,  when  we  met  at  dinner 
that  evening. 

After  the  banquet,  Frank  caused  us  to  be  rowed  in 
triumph  over  the  scene  of  his  victory,  sitting  in  the  stern 
with  an  enormous  regalia,  and  surveying  the  waters  with  a 
grand  complacency,  which  made  me  feel  myself  quite  con- 
temptible. Very  different  would  my  sensations  have  been, 
had  I  been  then  acquainted  with  the  fact,  which  my  friend 
subsequently  revealed  to  me,  that  he  had  hooked  and  lost 
two  much  finer  fish  than  that  on  which  we  dined. 

The  boatmen  —  one  of  whom,  from  his  sapient  and  sol- 
emn manner,  had  the  soubriquet  of  Lord  Bacon  ;  and  the 
other,  a  fine,  cheery  young  fellow,  wearing  his  rightful 
appellation  of  Johnny  Joyce — joined  us  in  our  tobacco  and 
talk,  "  turning  to  mirth  all  things  of  earth,  as  only  "  Irish- 
men can.  When  two  of  the  visitors  came  out  of  the  inn, 
lingered  a  few  seconds  in  conversation  at  the  gate,  and  then 
started  for  their  evening  walk,  in  opposite  directions,  as 
Englishmen  are  wont,  — "  Bedad,"  said  my  Lord  Bacon, 
"the  gentlemen  have  quarrelled,  more's  the  pity.  Sure, 
one  of  'em  has  been  ating  the  biggest  dinner,  and  made  the 


86  A   LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


other  jealous.  Thafs  the  jealous  one,"  he  continued,  point- 
ing to  our  friend  Balder  the  Beautiful,  "  there's  something 
in  the  set  of  his  back,  which  says  that  he  is  disappointed." 
And  there  really  was  a  misanthropic  expression,  to  be  ob- 
served upon  the  shoulders  in  question,  which  we  might  not 
otherwise  have  noticed,  but  which  was  immediately  patent 
to  an  Irishman,  who  detects  more  quickly,  and  ridicules 
more  cleverly,  though  he  cannot  despise  more  heartily  than 
we  do,  any  exposition  of  a  sulky  temperament.  I  remem- 
ber going  to  a  horse-fair  with  Paddy  O'Hara,  of  Merton, 
and  that  we  overtook  on  the  road  an  agriculturist  of  a  staid 
and  sullen  deportment.  He  was  riding  by  a  rustic  groom 
who  led  a  handsome,  but  somewhat  heavy-looking  horse, 
too  good  for  harness,  but  scarcely  good  enough  for  hunt- 
ing, though  the  farmer  evidently  regarded  him  as  quite  the 
animal  for  High  Leicestershire.  Well,  we  pulled  up  the 
tandem,  that  we  might  examine  the  tit  (thinking  ourselves 
amazingly  knowing  in  horse-flesh,  as  undergraduates  do), 
and  O'Hara  led  off  with  a  "  Good  morning  !" 

"  Good  morning,"  replied  Agricola,  but  very  sternly. 

"  It's  lonely  your  horse  is  looking  this  morning,  sir," 
continued  Pat,  as  serious  as  a  mute. 

"  Don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  farmer. 


KYLEMORE. 


"  Oh,  sure,"  replied  O'Hara,  with  an  expression  of 
intense  grief,  as  though  his  heart  bled  for  the  poor  quad- 
ruped, "  it's  desolate,  and  melancholy,  and  beraved  he's 
looking,  and  very  very  lonely — without  the  plough  !" 

And  he  blew  such  a  blast  upon  our  long  horn,  as  made 
the  welkin  ring;  and  the  big  horse,  he  pranced  and 
reared,  and  the  farmer  and  his  man  they  blasphemed  in 
unison,  as  we  sped  merrily  onwards. 

As  we  had  some  thoughts  of  spending  a  day  at  a  place 
in  this  neighbourhood  called  Coolna  Carton,  we  asked 
Johnny  Joyce  if  there  was  much  to  see  there  ?  And  the 
answer  which  we  got  was  " Divil  a  taste  !"  "But  surely," 
we  remonstrated,  "  there  is  wild  mountain  and  lake 
scenery?"  "Oh,  faith,"  said  Johnny,  "there's  mountains 
and  sthrames,  if  it's  the  likes  0'  them  that  ye're  want- 
ing;" and  he  looked  at  us,  as  though  he  would  have 
added,  "  but  you,  surely,  cannot  be  such  fools  !" 

Ah,  Johnny  Joyce !  there's  a  homily  for  us  all  in  that 
" divil  a  taste!"  The  beautiful,  so  close  to  us,  over  head, 
under  foot,  we  prize  not ;  the  great  hills  are  voiceless  to 
the  mountaineer ;  and  the  lowlander  sees  no  loveliness  in 
valleys  thick  with  corn.  Ashore,  we  sigh  for  the  wild 
magnificence  of  ocean  ;  and,  at  sea,  our  unquiet  spirit 


88  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


yearns  for  the  landscape's  rest  and  peace.  Let  us  ask  for 
eyes  to  read,  and  loving  hearts  to  understand,  the  declara- 
tion of  wisdom  and  of  goodness  God-written  every- 
where ! 

We  spent  a  pleasant  evening  in  the  common-room  of 
our  inn.  There  was,  among  others,  a  landscape-painter, 
who,  manfully  confessing  that  he  "could  do  nothing  with 
Connamara"  showed  us,  nevertheless,  some  very  interest- 
ing sketches;  and  there  was  a  clever,  merry,  young 
graduate,  of  our  sister  university  at  Dublin,  as  full  of 
good  sense  as  good  humour.  He  told  us,  as  we  sipped 
our  punch,  how  that  whiskey  derived  its  name  from  the 
Irish  uiske,  the  water  ;  "  the  only  water,"  quoth  he,  "that's 
good  for  a  gentleman  to  drink  ;  "  how  that  usquebaugh 
meant  "  water  of  life,"  as  aqua  vita  in  Latin,  and  eau  de 
vie  in  French  ;  and  how  this  reminded  him  that  the  PJicenix 
Park  in  Dublin,  derived  its  name  from  Finniske,  or 
Fionuisge,  fair-water,  and  was  so  called  from  a  spring  in 
the  neighbourhood,  once  much  resorted  to  as  a  chalybe- 
ate spa. 

As  we  became  confidential,  I  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  Ireland's  prospects  ? 

"  Well,"  he    said,  after    a    long,   reflective  pull  at  his 


IRELAND'S  PROSPECTS.  89 


little,  black,  dudeen,  "  I  am  not  so  sanguine  as  some  with 
regard  to  the  prosperity  of  Ireland.  That  which  Pope 
said  of  man  in  general,  seems  to  me  to  be  especially  true 
with  regard  to  an  Irishman  in  particular,  he  '  never  is,  but 
always  to  be,  blessed.'  Every  history,  or  book  of  travels, 
written  no  matter  when  or  by  whom,  always  has  the 
same  moral, — Ireland  is  emerging  from  a  state  of  misery 
and  degradation,  —  followed  by  some  fine,  old,  crusted 
quotations  with  regard  to  our  capabilities,  and  the  won- 
derful results  which  might  be  achieved,  '  if  only  the  hand 
of  man  did  join  with  the  hand  of  nature.'  "  * 

"  Pity,"  I  thought,  "  that  the  hand  of  man  should  be 
unhappily  preoccupied — with  a  blunderbuss  !" 

"  No,"  he  continued,  "  physicians,  Danish,  Saxon,  and 
Norman,  have  prescribed  for  us  (generally  a  course  of 
bleeding  and  depletion)  with  so  little  success ;  the  grand 
panacea,  Protestantism,  has  been  administered  to  us,  —  as 
gently  as  a  ball  to  some  restive  horse,  with  a  twitch  upon 
our  national  nose,  and  a  thrust  down  our  national  throat, 
—with  so  few  favourable  results,  that  I  begin  to  fear  our 
malady  is  chronic,  and  that  affliction  must  be  regarded  as 
our  normal  state." 

*  Lord  Bacon,  the  original,  not  the  boatman. 


90  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


"I  have  heard  before,"  I  remarked,  "that  Ireland 
has  not  been  considered  by  her  medical  advisers  to  be  a 
very  good  subject." 

"  I  see,"  he  answered,  "  but  we  are  more  loyal,  per- 
haps, than  you  are  inclined  to  suppose,  and  quite  as  much 
so  as  you  have  a  right  to  expect.  Some  people  seem  sur- 
prised that  we  Irish  do  not  set  up  statues  of  Turgesius,  the 
Norwegian  gentleman,  who  favoured  us  with  a  tax  called 
Nose-Money,  by  which  he  merely  meant,  that,  if  we  declined 
to  pay,  he  should  remove  the  facial  adjunct  alluded  to;  that 
we  do  not  paint  memorial  picture^  of  Prince  John  and  his 
Normans  ridiculing  our  Irish  Chiefs,  when  they  came  to 
welcome  them  at  Waterford,  and  chaffing  them  about  their 
long  hair  and  their  short  yellow  shirts,  which,  I  grant,  must 
have  been  rather  funny  ;  that  we  exhibit  no  restlessness  for 
the  canonisation  of  Cromwell,  and  make  no  pious  pilgrim- 
ages to  the  tomb  of  Dutch  William.  Now,  I  by  no  means 
say,  with  Junius,  that  '  Ireland  has  been  uniformly  plun- 
dered and  oppressed/  but  I  do  say  that  the  bride  which 
Pope  Adrian,  himself  an  Englishman,  gave,  with  a  gay 
marriage-ring  of  emeralds,  to  your  second  Henry,  has  not 
been  very  lovingly  dealt  with." 

"The  wedding,"  I  said,  "has  not  been,  as  yet,  produc- 


IRELAND'S  PROSPECTS. 


tive  of  much  happiness ;  but  you  must  remember,  that  if  the 
husband  has  been  harsh  at  times,  and  disagreeable,  the  con- 
duct of  the  lady  has  been  very  aggravating  and  suspicious. 
Hath  she  not  flirted  with  Monsieur  and  Jonathan  f  Hath 
she  not  decked  herself  with  ribbons  of  obnoxious  hue,  and 
gone  after  strange  priests,  whom  John  Bull  honoureth  not  ? 
Could  he  have  foreseen  the  troublous  consequences  of  the 
union,  he  might  have  wished  to  imitate  the  example  of 
Jupiter,  who,  having  considered  the  subject  in  all  its  bear- 
ings, devoured  Metis,  his  wife,  lest  she  should  produce  an 
offspring  wiser  than  himself." 

"  Pergite  Pierides  1  Go  it,  Lempriere  ! "  here  broke  in 
that  boisterous  Frank,  who,  I  regret  to  say,  has  an  ubiqui- 
tous ear,  and  a  consequent  power  of  joining  the  conversa- 
tion from  any  distance,  and  when  you  least  expect  him. 
"  What  are  you  two  mythological  bloaters  driving  at  ?" 

"  Francis,"  I  replied,  reprovingly,  "  your  mind,  a  feeble 
one  at  best,  is  unhinged  by  success  and  whiskey.  Calm 
yourself,  and  go  to  bed." 

But  he  only  crowed  like  a  cock. 

"The  fact  is,"  resumed  my  Irish  friend,  "we  are  too 
near  a  great  country  ever  to  be  great  ourselves,  and  are 
too  proud,  unhappily,  to  perform  on  violin  No.  2." 


92  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

"  You  won't  be  angry  with  me,"  I  said,  "  if  I  doubt  your 
ability,  under  the  most  favourable  circumstances,  ever  to 
play  a  first  fiddle  in  the  Monster  Concert  of  Nations.  You 
may  let  me  say  so,  for  I  love  the  Irish.  I  should  be  dis- 
loyal to  friendships,  which  I  value  dearly,  forgetful  of  a 
thousand  merry-makings  enhanced  by  Irish  humour,  and 
of  many  a  sorrow  relieved  by  Irish  sympathy,  if  I  did  not 
speak  well  of  Irishmen,  to  say  nothing  of  the  interesting 
fact,  that,  on  four  occasions,  distinct  and  desperate,  I  have 
been  in  love  with  your  sweet  Irish  girls.  But  if  I  have 
read  your  history  aright,  you  have  never,  nationally,  shown 
any  ambition  or  aptitude  to  hold  a  prominent  place." 

"  Confound  your  impudence,"  he  answered,  "  did  you 
never  read  in  that  self-same  history,  that  Ireland  was  once 
'the  school  of  Europe,'  '  Insula  Sanctorum,'  and  I  don't 
know  what,  before  those  Danish  ruffians  destroyed  the 
monasteries,  —  from  the  purest  and  most  pious  motives, 
doubtless,  like  your  own  dear  Henry  VIII.  !" 

"  I  have  read,"  I  rejoined,  "  that  a  Scotch  gentleman 
(for  'Saint  Patrick  was  a  gentleman,'  if  ever  there  was  one) 
preached  Druidism  out  of  this  country,  and  gave  you,  in  its 
place,  the  blessings  of  a  heaven-sent  faith  ;  and  I  know, 
furthermore,  that  Irishmen,  such  as  Sedulius,  your  poet, 


IRELAND'S  PROSPECTS.  93 


and  your  Saints,  Columbkill,  and  Aidan,  and  Finian,  and 
Cuthbert,  names  known  and  beloved  through  Christendom, 
have  been  ever  esteemed  and  honoured  among  the  cham- 
pions of  our  holy  religion ;  but  I  am  speaking  of  Ireland 
politically,  and  maintain,  that,  even  in  the  brighter  epoch, 
of  which  you  treat,  say  from  the  fifth  to  the  ninth  century, 
Ireland,  socially  and  generally,  was  in  a  state  of  trouble  and 
disquietude.  Indeed  it  would  seem  from  your  history 
that  until  a  recent  period,  which  (I  say  it  with  all  reverent 
earnestness)  may  GOD  prolong,  you  have  either  been  repel- 
ling invaders,  or  fighting  among  yourselves,  or  both,  ever 
since  Partholan,  the  sixth  in  descent  from  Magog,  Noah's 
second  son,  took  Ireland,  with  his  thousand  men.  Why, 
even  in  what  you  would  consider  a  period  of  profound 
peace,  you  have  been  about  as  orderly  as  a  lot  of  school- 
boys, when  the  master  is  absent,  or  a  pack  of  young 
hounds,  who  have  got  away  from  their  huntsman ;  and 
suggest  in  every  phase  of  your  existence,  the  stern  remark 
of  your  greatest  Irishman,*  '  Ireland  is  to  be  governed  only 
by  an  army.'  L Empire  c'est  r  Epee  !"  t 

"You  seem  to  think,"  he  said,  "with  another  illustrious 

*  Wellington. 
t  Punch's  version  of  Louis  Napoleon's  words,  "  L'Empire,  c'est  La  Faix." 


94  A    LITTLE   TOUR   IN    IRELAND. 

countryman  of  mine,  Mr.  John  Cade,  that  '  then  are  we  in 
order,  when  most  out  of  order,'  and  that  Ireland,  like  the 
lady  in  the  farce,*  only  'glories  in  her  topsey-turvey- 
tude ; '  but  when  you  speak  of  the  schoolmaster  being 
abroad,  do  you  not  in  great  measure  account  for  eccen- 
tricities, repeating  that  great  enigma,  '  What  makes  treason 
reason,  and  Ireland  wretched  ?'  and  answering,  'absent  T.' 
Collisions  and  explosions  may  be  looked  for  on  the  Rail, 
when  they,  who  should  be  its  Directors,  never  come  near 
the  line ;  and  in  my  opinion  the  best  thing  that  could  hap- 
pen to  Ireland  would  be  the  revival  of  the  Act  against  non- 
residence  which  was  made  in  1379."  "I" 

"Would  it  not,"  I  asked,  "be  a  wiser  and  more  agree- 
able inducement,  if  you  could  assure  the  returning  landlord 
that  his  plans  of  improvement  would  not  be  disturbed  by 
an  injection  of  lead  into  his  brain  ?  At  all  events,  I  think, 
we  shall  see  shortly  what  resident  men  can  do.  The 
estates,  which  absenteeism,  as  much  as  anything,  has 
encumbered  and  finally  estranged,  will  be  occupied,  to  a 
great  extent,  by  their  new  owners : — will  these  ever  make 
Paddy  industrious  ? 

*      The  King's  Gardener." 

t  Moore's  History  of  Ireland,  vol.  iii,  pp.  113. 


IRELAND  S    PROSPECTS. 


95 


"  Sure,"  he  answered,  "  we'll  be  the  grandest  nation 
upon  earth,  the  moment  we  get  a  taste  of  encouragement. 
Meanwhile  I'll  concede,  that  we're  a  trifle  awkward  to 
manage,  and,  when  we're  not  famished  by  dearth  of  food, 
nor  depressed  by  a  drought  of  whiskey,  that  we're  mighty 
fond  of  scrimmage.  And  you'll  allow,  I  take  it,  that  no 
men  fight  in  a  more  'gentaler'  form  than  we  do;  your  Irish 
regiments  have  done  you  good  service  on  the  battle-field, 
to  say  nothing  of  our  having  supplied  you  with  the  grand- 
est warrior  of  your  history.  And  long  may  we  fight,  side 
by  side,  and  keep  out  of  all  hot  water,  but  this"  and  he 
touched  my  glass  with  his  own,  and  sang  with  a  voice  so 
pliable  and  mellow,  that  even  the  knight  of  the  surly  shoul- 
ders,— whom  we  also  named  Thersites,  described  by  Homer 
as  "  the  ugliest  chap  of  all  who  came  to  Troy," — smiled 
and  nodded  in  accompaniment, — 

"  O  quam  bonum  est ! 
O  quam  jucundum  est ! 
Poculis  fraternis  gaudere !" 

And  so  we  became,  as  Dennis  O'Shaughnessy  *  bids, 
the  "sextons  to  animosity  and  care;"  and  having  buried 

*  Carleton's  Traits  and  Stories  of  the  Irish  Peasantry. 


96  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

them  decently,  were  going  to  bed,  when  dulcet  notes  from 
a  musical  instrument,  which  the  performer  thereupon 
alluded  to  as  his  "  feelute,"  and  which  was  joyously  war- 
bling an  Irish  jig,  attracted  us  to  the  kitchen.  And  what 
mortal  man  "  that  hadn't  wooden  legs,"  could  see  blushing 
Biddy  Joyce  footing  it  merrily,  and  not  feel  himself  as 
irresistibly  disposed  to  dance,  as  a  nigger  when  he  hears  a 
fiddle  ?  In  thirty  seconds  Frank  and  I  were  involved  in  a 
series  of  such  swift,  untiring  saltations,  as  the  world  hath 
not  seen,  since  Mevelava,  the  Dervish,  danced  for  four  days 
to  the  flute  of  Hamsa  ! 

When  we  awoke  the  next  morning  (Sunday),  "  the 
richest  cloudland  in  Europe,"  as  Kohl  terms  Ireland,  was 
investing  such  abundance  of  its  surplus  capital  in  the  lakes 
and  mountains  of  Connamara,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
leave  our  inn ;  and  as  difference  of  creed  unhappily  pre- 
vented a  common  service,  every  man  became  his  own 
priest,  and  every  bed-room  an  oratory.  My  friend,  the 
Irish  graduate,  played  some  most  solemn  and  impressive 
music,  including  the  "  Cujus  Animam,"  from  the  Stabat 
Mater,  upon  a  Concertina,  which  now  breathed  forth  notes 
sweet  and  clear,  like  a  flute,  and  anon  was  grand  and  organ- 
like.  At  a  later  period,  a  perfume,  which,  at  first,  I  sup- 


THE    TWO    CHURCHES. 


97 


posed  to  be  incense,  issued  from  his  dormitory ;  but  it  ulti- 
mately resolved  itself  into  Latakia. 

At  last,  the  clouds  began  to  break,  and  the  grand  old 
mountains  to  emerge  from  the  mist,  like  the  scenery  in  a 
dissolving  view  ;  the  sunlight  seemed  to  reach  one's  heart ; 
and  we  sallied  forth  for  a  walk,  the  Irishman,  Frank,  and 
I,  as  happy  as  bees  on  the  first  warm  day  of  spring,  or  as 
the  gallant  Kane,  when,  after  a  long  Arctic  winter,  he  saw 
the  sun  shine  once  more,  and  felt  "as  though  he  were 
bathing  in  perfumed  waters." 

The  conversation,  as  we  strolled  towards  Letter-Frack, 
was  theological  and  brisk.  Paddy  said  that  "  our  Church 
resembled  a  branch  broken  from  the  Vine,  withering  and 
moribund  from  inanition ;"  and  we  affirmed  that  "  his 
Church  was  like  a  tree  unpruned,  all  leaves,  and  no 
fruit." 

Then  he  pretended  to  have  heard  that  Mr.  Spurgeon 
had  refused  the  See  of  Canterbury,  and  that  Lord  Shaftes- 
bury  was  bringing  in  a  Bill  to  abolish  the  Apostles'  Creed. 
"You  miscellaneous  Christians,"  he  said,  "will  shortly 
have  nothing  to  believe  in  common,  unless  it  be — Dr.  Cum- 
ming  !  " 

"And  you,  magnificent  Christians,"  I  rejoined,  "who, 


98  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


by  the  way,  have  had  your  rival  Popes,  and  still  have 
divisions  among  you,  you  have  already  got  more  to  believe 
than  Scripture,  tradition,  or  common  sense  acknowledge. 
As  to  our  being  '  miscellaneous/  we  churchmen  have  no 
communion  with  the  sects,  though  you  delight  to  identify 
us  with  them,  and  though  some  disloyal  teachers  among 
us  may  '  apply  the  call  of  dissent  to  their  own  lost  sheep, 
and  tinkle  back  their  old  women  by  sounding  the  brass 
of  Methodists,'  *  our  Church,  unswerving,  still  maintains 
the  old,  catholic  faith,  and  earnestly  entreats  deliverance 
from  all  false  doctrine,  heresy,  and  schism." 

And  so  we  went  on,  strophe,  and  antistrophe,  with  an 
occasional  epode  from  Frank  (who  kindly  applauded  both 
parties,  encouraging  us,  more  liberally  than  respectfully, 
with  "Bravo  Babylon!"  "Now  heretic!"  an4  the  like,) 
and  only  arrived  at  unanimity,  when  it  was  proposed  that 
we  should  return  and  dine. 

Our  host,  Mr.  Duncan,  told  us  this  evening,  with  other 
very  interesting  detail,  concerning  the  Famine  of  1847,  now 
that,  at  a  public  meeting  in  the  neighbourhood,  he  had  said, 
somewhat  incautiously,  that  rather  than  the  people  should 
starve,  they  might  take  his  sheep  from  the  hills ;  and  how 

*  Horace  Walpolt. 


COXXAMARA. 


99 


that,  when  want  and  hunger  increased,  they  kept  in  remem- 
brance his  generous  words,  and,  taking  advantage,  like 
Macbeth,  of  the  "  unguarded  Duncan,"  turned  ninety  of  his 
sheep  into  mutton. 


CHAPTER   X. 


FROM  KYLEMORE  TO  GALWAY. 

E  left  Kylcmore  next 
morning  about  8:30, 
— the  Irishman  call- 
ing to  us  from  his 
window,  "to  give 
his  love  to  the  Bish- 
op of  London,  and 
to  ask  him  what  he 
fancied  for  the  Ches- 
ter Cup,"  —  travel- 
ling on  an  outside  car,  —  the  most  pleasant  mode  of  con- 
veyance for  two  persons,  as  you  are  thus  perfectly  indepen- 
dent, can  stop  when  and  where  you  please,  have  plenty  of 


100  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

room,  and  can  converse  agreeably.  Frank  looked  wistfully 
back  at  the  lake,  like  the  pointer  sent  home  at  luncheon, 
or  the  hunter  you  have  ridden  as  your  hack  to  the  "meet," 
or  (a  resemblance  much  more  to  his  taste),  a  belle,  reluc- 
tantly leaving  the  ball-room,  on  the  arm  of  her  drowsy  but 
determined  Pa. 

Now  we  pass  through  the  severe  and  solemn  scenery  of 
the  Killeries,  compared  by  Inglis,  Barrow,  and  Miss  Mar- 
tineau,  to  a  Norwegian  Fiord,  with  its  lakes  so  still,  and 
cold,  and  black,  and  its  mountains  so  bleak  and  stern, 
that  even  the  sea-fowl  seemed  to  have  deserted  it  with 
the  exception  of  a  single  cormorant,  who  looked  as  though 
he  had  committed  himself  in  some  disreputable  way,  and 
had  been  banished  here  for  solitary  confinement. 

But  the  dreariness  of  the  scene  was  soon  delightfully 
relieved  by  numbers  of  the  peasantry,  on  their  way  to 
the  Fair,  or  Pattern  as  it  is  called,  being  held  on  the 
festival  of  some  Patron  Saint,  at  Leenane  ;  and  the  striking 
colours  of  their  picturesque  costume,  red,  white,  and  blue, 
came  out  most  effectively  against  the  sombre  darkness  of 
the  back-ground.  Boats,  too,  were  crossing  the  water; 
and  a  soldier  in  uniform,  coming  over  in  one  of  them, 
glowed  on  the  gloomy  lake,  like  a  bed  of  scarlet  gerani- 


FAIR    AT    LEKNANE. 


1O1 


urns  in  the  middle  of  a  fallow  field.  Some  were  on  foot ; 
but  more  on  horseback,  almost  every  steed  carrying  dou- 
ble,— husbands  and  wives,  mothers  and  sons,  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  for  aught  I  know,  "  one  lovely  arm 
was  stretched  for,"  —  nothing  in  particular, 
"  and  one  was  round  her 
lover."  The  bare  feet  hung 
gracefully 
down,  and 
the  eyelids, 
as  we  passed, 
hung  grace- 
fully down 
also,  and  hid 
those  bright 
Irish  eyes. 
Well,  "there 
is  a  shame, 
which  is  glo- 
ry and  grace,"  the  most  beautiful  ornament  that  woman 
wears,  and  nowhere  worn  with  a  more  becoming,  but 
unaffected,  dignity,  than  here  by  the  maidens  of  Conna- 
mara. 


A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


Saddles  did  not  seem  to  be  known,  and  the  bridles, 
chiefly,  were  of  rope  or  twisted  hay.  As  to  the  Fair 
itself,  I  imagine  that  the  meeting  partook  more  of  a  social 
than  of  a  commercial  character,  a  few  sheep  being  the 
principal  live-stock  which  we  saw  exposed  for  sale. 
Several  stalls  exhibited,  for  the  refreshment  of  visitors, 
large  cakes  or  bannocks,  with  currants  at  an  incredible 
distance  from  each  other  (the  white  bread,  per  se,  being, 
doubtless,  a  sufficient  novelty  and  treat  to  many),  and  any 
amount  of  apples.  Indeed  Paddy  seems  almost  as  fond 
of  pommes  a"  arbre  as  he  is  of  pommes  de  terre  ;  and  in 
Stations,  Steamers,  and  Streets,  they  have  all  but  a 
monopoly  of  the  market. 

The  landlord  of  the  neat-looking  inn  at  Lccnanc,  a 
fine,  tall,  manly  fellow,  reminding  us  that  we  had  now 
entered  into  the  country  of  "  big  Joyce,"  *  came  forth  and 
welcomed  us  cheerily,  as  we  stopped  to  change  our  horse, 
and  almost  induced  us  to  stay  and  see  the  fun  of  the  fair, 
together  with  "  the  hundred  and  fifty  couple,  which  would 
stand  up  in  the  afternoon  for  a  jig."  But  we  had  no  time 
to  lose,  having  to  meet  the  Clifdcn  Car,  at  the  Cross  Roads, 
en  route  to  Galway ;  and  as  we  saw,  shortly  afterwards, 

*  See  note  at  p.  40. 


CONNAMARA. 


I03 


two  waggons  loaded  with  constables,  who  were  going  to 
preserve  order,  we  did  not  regret  our  departure,  nor  fail  to 
congratulate  each  other  on  the  unbroken  soundness  of  our 
Saxon  sculls. 

We  took  with  us  a  new  driver  from  Lcenane,  who 
seemed  somewhat  depressed  at  leaving  the  Fair,  and  was 
the  least  sociable  Irishman  I  ever  met.  But  one  does  not 
desire  conversation  amid  this  impressive  scenery ;  and  as  the 
only  information  which  he  volunteered  was  this,  that 
"  Hen's  Castle"  near  the  Maum  Hotel,  was  built  in  one 
night  by  a  cock  and  hen  grouse,  —  a  statement  which  he 
appeared  to  believe  implicitly, — I  don't  suppose  that  we 
lost  much  from  his  taciturnity.  The  misfortune  was,  that, 
though  his  tongue  was  tied,  his  hat  was  not, — an  eccentric, 
light-hearted  "  wide-awake,"  which  would  keep  skimming 
past  us,  and  hurrying  back  to  Leenane,  always  starting  off 
with  a  fresh  impetus,  as  the  owner  stooped  to  secure  it.  As 
time  was  precious,  Frank  offered  to  fasten  the  article  to  his 
head,  with  a  large,  gold  breast  pin,  by  way  of  nail,  and  a 
heavy  stone,  which  he  picked  up  by  the  wayside  (during  a 
little  walk  of  some  two  miles  up  hill),  as  hammer ;  but  he 
was  repulsed,  with  considerable  asperity.  At  last,  to  our 
great  delectation,  the  offensive  head-gear  was  drawn  out  of 


J04  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


a  boggy  pool,  in  such  a  limp  and  unpleasant  condition,  that 
the  proprietor,  after  a  brief  survey,  indignantly  sat  upon  it 
during  the  remainder  of  our  journey,  vesting  his  cranium  in 
a  pocket-handkerchief,  which  was,  indeed,  a  sight  to  see. 
With  a  large  bunch  of  heather,  which,  I  regret  to  confess, 
we  could  not  refrain  from  inserting  in  the  collar  of  his 
coat,  and 

"  dulce  est  tomfoolere  in  loco" 

he  presented  an  appearance  "  well  worthy  of  hobservation," 
(as  they  say  at  the  wax-work),  and  which  would  have 
raised  an  immediate  mob  in  any  street  of  London 

We  arrived  at  the  cross  roads,  in  spite  of  the  Fabian 
policy  pursued  by  the  volatile  hat,  in  good  time  for  the 
Gahvay  car,  and  soon  found  ourselves  leaning  over  the 
pretty  bridge  at  Oughterarde,  and  bidding  farewell  to  Con- 
namara.  It  has  been,  indeed,  a  privilege  and  refreshment 
to  wander  amid  these  glorious  scenes,  where 

"  Hills  peep  o'er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise," 

and  where  nature,  with  a  calm,  majestic  dignity,  which 
must  impress  and  ought  to  improve,  claims  at  once  our 
reverence  and  love,  awes  us  with  her  grandeur,  but  charms 
us  more  with  her  smile. 


CONNAMARA. 


The  tourist  readily  foregoes  and  forgets  the  temporary 
loss  of  little  comforts  to  which  he  has  been  accustomed. 
There  is  but  one  really  great  deprivation  to  which  he  is 
subject, — the  want  of  ladies'  society.  English  ladies  can 
go,  do  go,  and  will  go  everywhere ;  but,  generally  speak- 
ing, they  are  unwilling,  wisely  unwilling,  to  encounter  a 
wet  day  on  an  Irish  car,  or  the  carpetless,  comfortless  rooms 
of  the  Connamara  inns. 

Indeed,  the  fine  gentleman,  who  chiefly  loves  the  tips 
of  his  moustaches,  the  sleeve-links  of  his  shirt,  and  the  toes 
of  his  gleaming  boots, — the  dandy,  afipodiairos,  who  can't 
live  without  his  still  champagne,  by  Jove,  his  soups  and 
sauces,  and  golden  plovers,  his  Nesselrode  pudding,  and 
petit  verre  en  suite, — will  find  sad  discomfiture  in  Conna- 
mara. Neither  Apicius  Ccelius  nor  Lady  Clutterbuck  have 
prepared  the  way  for  his  daintyship,  and  when  the  bacon, 
which  accompanies  the  breastless  fowls,  shall  display  its 
prismatic  hues,  his  forlorn  spirit  shall  sigh  in  vain  for  the 
pleasant  hams  of  Piccadilly,  while,  in  vain,  he  imprecates 
on  the  unskilful  cook  the  fate  of  Mr.  Richard  Rouse.  * 

*  A  cook,  who,  in  the  year  1530,  attempted  to  poison  Fisher.  Bishop  of 
Rochester,  and  was  boiled  to  death — out  of  compliment  to  his  profession.  See 
Froude's  History  of  England,  vol.  i.,  p.  283.  A  writer  in  the  Athenaeum  (Jan.  13, 
1844,)  remarks  in  a  very  amusing  article  on  the  Irish  Census.  "  There  is  no 


io6 


A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


At  morn,  moreover,  lazily  turning  in  his  bed  to  ring  for 
valet  or  waiter,  how  shall  his  superb  dignity  be  perturbed 

to  find,  that  there  exists  no  belle 
alliance  between  the  upper  and 
lower  house,  and  that  his  highness 
must  go  to  the  stair  top,  and  hallo, 
for  whatever  his  emergencies  re- 
quire. No  marble  bath  awaits  him 
now,  with  its  tepidly  congenial 
joys  ;  but  there  stands  at  his  door 
a  little  tub,  which  he  contem- 
plates as  ruefully  as  the  stork 
of  the  fable  the  shallow  dish 
of  the  fox,  and  which  just  contains  a  sufficiency  of  water 
to  perplex  a  rat  of  irresolute  mind,  whether  he  should 
walk  or  swim.  The  accommodation  is,  in  fact,  so 
limited,  that  Frank,  in  attempting  some  daring  flight  of 
ablution,  broke  his  tiny  bath  to  pieces,  and  away  streamed 
the  water  to  announce  the  fact  down  stairs.  Up  came 
the  astonished  waiter,  and  surveying  the  wreck  with  a 
sorrowful  countenance,  exclaimed,  "By  the  powers,  your 

cookery  in  Ireland,  because  there  is  nothing  to  cook.  We  occasionally,  to  be 
sure,  throw  them  a  bone  of  contention,  and  they  make  a  broil  of  it.  Their  cookery 
goes  no  further." 


CONNAMARA. 


107 


onner,  its  Meary's  looking-glass  you've  been  and  ruinated 
intirely!  —  and  how  will  she  kape  herself  nate  and  day- 
sint?"  subsequently  explaining  to  us,  that  this  vessel, 
filled  with  clear  spring  water,  had  served,  prior  to  its  dis- 
solution, as  the  mirror  of  the  pretty  housemaid.  I  had 
my  doubts  as  to  the  tale  of  a  tub ;  but  Frank,  at  all  events, 
thought  it  his  duty  to  have  an  interview  with  the  bereaved 
Meary,  and  returned  therefrom  with  one  of  his  ears  con- 
siderably enriched  in  colouring. 

I  strongly  recommend  the  tourist  to  make  himself  a  C. 
B.,  by  procuring  a  portable  bath  of  waterproof  material, 
such  as  is  now  made  for  travellers.  He  will  then  have 
no  difficulty  to  contend  with  beyond  a  slight  indisposition 
on  the  part  of  the  waiters  to  supply  him  liberally  with  the 
element  required.  "  Bedad,"  said  one  of  them  to  me,  "  if 
the  rain's  to  be  presarved,  and  carried  up  stairs,  and  trated 
this  fashion,  I'm  thinking  it  'ill  get  so  mighty  fond  of  our 
attintions,  that  it  '11  never  lave  us  at  all,  at  all  !" 

Again,  the  fine  gentleman  may  be  disconcerted  to  find 
that  windows  very  generally  decline  to  be  opened,  or,  being 
open,  prefer  to  keep  so,  except  in  case  of  his  looking  out 
of  them,  when  they  are  down  upon  his  neck,  like  a  guillo- 
tine. His  looking-glass,  too,  just  as  it  is  brought  to  a  con- 


IO8  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


venient  focus,  may  perhaps,  dash  madly  round,  as  though 
urged  by  an  anxiety,  which  it  could  not  repress,  to  assure 
him,  in  white  chalk,  that  it  really  cost  three  and  six- 
pence ! 

But  what  are  these  trivial  inconveniences,  which  amuse, 
more  than  they  annoy,  to  "a  man  as  calls  himself  a  man," 
and  when  he  has  such  active,  cheerful,  untiring  servants, 
ever  ready  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  please  him  ?  The 
cuisine  is  certainly  a  little  queer,  but  he  who,  with  a  Conna- 
mara appetite,  cannot  enjoy  Connamara  fare,  salmon,  fresh 
from  its  lakes,  eggs  newly  laid,  excellent  bread  and  butter, 
the  maliest  of  potatoes  ("  laughing  at  you,  and  with  their 
coats  unbuttoned  from  the  heat,"  but  perhaps  a  trifle  under- 
boiled  for  our  taste,  until  we  learn  to  like  them  "  with  a 
bone  in  them  "),  together  with  the  best  of  whiskey,  and  our 
Burton  beer ;  he  who  cannot  sleep  in  a  clean  Connamara 
bed,  after  a  day  among  its  mountains  and  lakes,  nor  say 
with  Bellarius, 

"  Come;  our  stomach 

Will  make  what's  homely  savoury ;  weariness 
Can  snore  upon  the  flint,  when  resty  sloth 
Finds  the  down  pillow  hard, — 

why  he's  not  the  man  for  Galway,  and  had  better  keep 
away  from  it. 


FROM    GALWAV    TO    LIMKRICK. 


109 


CHAPTER   XI. 


FROM    GALWAY   TO    LIMERICK. 

WE  witnessed  at  the  railway  station,  on  our  arrival  at 
Galzvay,  a  most  painful  and  touching  scene,  —  the  depart- 
ure of  some  emigrants,  and  their  last  separation,  here  on 
earth,  from  dear  relations  and  friends.  The  train  was 
about  to  start,  and  the  platform  was  crowded  with  men, 
women,  and  children,  pressing  round  to  take  a  last  fond 
look.  Ever  and  anon,  a  mother  or  a  sister  would  force 
a  way  into  the  carriages,  flinging  her  arms  around  her 
beloved,  only  to  be  separated  by  a  superior  strength,  and 
parting  from  them  with  such  looks  of  misery  as  disturbed 
the  soul  with  pity.  And  then,  for  the  first  time,  we  heard 
the  wild  Irish  "  cry,"  beginning  with  a  low,  plaintive  wail, 
and  gradually  rising  in  its  tone  of  intense  sorrow,  until 

"  Lamentis,  gemituque  et  femineo  ululatu, 
Tecta  fremunt. " 


110  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Nor  was  this  great  grief  simulated,  as  by  hired  keeners 
at  a  wake,  the  mulieres  praficce  of  the  Irish  Feralia,  but 
came  gushing  with  its  waters  of  bitterness  from  the  full 
fountain  of  those  loving  hearts.  There  were  faces  there 
no  actor  could  assume — faces  which  would  have  immor- 
talised the  painter  who  could  have  traced  them  truly,  but 
were  beyond  the  compass  of  art.  Two,  especially,  I  shall 
never  forget.  A  youth  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  who  had  a 
cheerful  word  and  pleasant  smile  for  all,  though  you  could 
see  the  while,  in  his  white  cheek  and  quivering  lip,  how 
grief  was  gnawing  his  brave  Spartan  heart  (Ah, 

"  What  a  noble  thing  it  is 
To  suffer  and  be  strong!  ") 

and  the  other,  an  elderly  man,  who  stood  somewhat  aloof 
from   the  rest,  with  his  arms  folded,  and   his  head  bent, 
motionless,  speechless,  with  a  face  on  which  despair  had 
written,  /  shall  smile  no  more  tintil  I  welcome  death  ! 
I  thought  of  those  beautiful  lines  which  begin, 

"  Thank  God,  bless  God,  all  ye  who  suffer  not 
More  grief  than  ye  can  weep  for.    That  is  well;"  * 

and  I  thought,  also,  what  great  hearts  beat  under  coats  of 

*  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


IRISH    EMIGRANTS. 


frieze,  and  how  bounden  we  are,  with  all  our  might,  to  avert 
from  them  these  overwhelming  sorrows,  or,  at  the  least, 
and  if  fall  they  must,  to  prove  our  sympathy  as  best 
we  can. 

Many  of  the  emigrants  had  bunches  of  wild  flowers 
and  heather,  and  one  of  them  a  shamrock  in  a  broken 
flowerpot,  as  memorials  of  dear  ould  Ireland.  Nor  does 
this  fond  love  of  home  and  kindred  decline  in  a  distant 
land;  no  less  than  7,52O,ooo/.  having  been  sent  from 
America  to  Ireland,  in  the  years  1848  to  1854,  inclusive, 
according  to  the  statement  of  the  Emigration  Commis- 
sioners. 

It  was  a  strange  recollection  during  this  scene  of  sor- 
row, (and  how  strangely  our  thoughts  will  sometimes  set 
themselves  at  variance  with  what  is  passing  before  us  !  ) 
that,  all  the  while,  the  Great  Jig  was  going  on  at  Leenane, 
and  the  fiddlers  fiddling,  and  the  hundred  and  fifty  couple 
footing  it,  right  merrily  !  Well, 

"  Let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep,  . 

The  hart  ungalled  play  ; 
For  some  must  laugh, 
And  some  must  weep  — 

So  runs  the  world  away  !  " 

And  I,  accordingly,  having  sorrowed,  and  that  heartily, 


112  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

with  the  poor  emigrants  and  their  friends,  shall  venture  to 
refresh  myself,  and,  I  hope,  my  readers,  with  a  small  his- 
torical incident,  suggested  to  my  memory  by  the  wild  Irish 
cry.  When  Richard  de  Clare,  surnamed  Strongbow, 
invaded  Ireland  in  1171,  one  of  his  sons  was  so  exceedingly 
astonished  at  the  awful  howlings,  which  the  enemy  raised, 
by  way  of  overture  to  the  fight,  that  he  became  prematurely 
"tired  of  war's  alarms,"  and  set  forth  without  loss  of  time 
in  search  of  more  peaceful  scenes ;  —  colloquially  speaking, 
he  cut  and  run.  But  hearing,  soon  afterwards,  that  the 
Governor  had  silenced  these  disagreeable  vocalists,  and  that 
the  conquerors  were  having  no  end  of  fun,  Master  Strong- 
bow  returned  to  the  bosom  of  his  family — where  he  must 
have  been  inexpressibly  surprised  and  disgusted  at  the 
abrupt  and  ungentlemanly  behaviour  of  Papa,  who  no 
sooner  caught  sight  of  him,  than  he  rushed  at  him,  and — 
cut  him  in  two.  * 

We  left  Galway  at  four  p.  m.,  and  reached  Athlone  in 
a  couple  of  hours.  If  the  Widow  Malone,  och  hone,  still 
lives  in  the  town  of  Athlone,  och  hone,  I  do  not  admire 
her  choice  of  residence,  for  its  aspect  is  cold  and  cheer- 
less. So  at  least  it  appeared,  as  we  saw  it,  on  a  day  that 

*Moore's  History  of  Ireland,  v.  ii.,  p.  290. 


ATHLONE.  I  1 3 

was  dark,  and  dull,  and  dreary,  with  rain.  We  read  in 
"  Wanleys  Wonders"  (one  of  the  most  carefully-collated 
and  painstaking  books  of  lies  extant)  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Catona  were  wont  to  make  their  king  swear,  at  his  corona- 
tion, that  it  should  not  rain  immoderately,  in  any  part  of 
his  dominions,  so  long  as  he  remained  on  the  throne; 
and  one  sighs  for  a  similar  dynasty  in  Ireland,  (if  the 
promise  was  really  fulfilled),  where  that  ancient  monarch, 
"King  O'Neill,  of  the  Showers"  seems  still  perpetually  to 
reign. 

So  the  streets  were  looking  their  narrowest  and  dingiest, 
and  the  Castle  and  Barracks  their  greyest  and  grimmest, 
as  we  saw  them  from  under  our  umbrellas ;  and  we  were 
glad  to  return  to  Mr.  Rourke's  comfortable  hotel,  where 
papered  walls  and  carpeted  floors,  and  practicable  win- 
dows, and  duplicate  towels,  again  welcomed  us  to  the  lap 
of  luxury.  But  I  felt  little  disposition  to  sit  down  in  it, 
mourning  for  Connamara,  gazing  sadly  through  the  win- 
dows of  our  coffee-room,  and  esteeming  the  Post-office 
opposite  but  a  poor  substitute  for  the  great  hills  of  Bina 
Beola,  and  the  lakes  to  be  very  feebly  represented  by 
Mr.  Pym's  establishment  for  the  diffusion  of  Dublin  ales. 
Nor  did  sweet  solace  come,  until  we  beheld  once  more — a 

8 


1 14  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

real  beef-steak.  Frank's  eyes,  in  their  normal  state  of  a 
mild,  benevolent  blue,  glowed  with  a  fiery  greed ;  and  I 
do  not  suppose  that  six  Van  Amburghs  could  have  taken 
away  our  food  with  hot  irons. 

After  dinner  we  communicated  to  each  other  the  little 
we  knew  with  regard  to  the  old  town  Q{  Athlone : — how 
that  —  the  Shannon,  which  flows  through  it,  being  here 
fordable,  —  it  had  always  been  a  place  of  great  military 
importance ;  how  that  William  III.  had,  in  the  first 
instance,  failed  to  take  it,  —  or  rather  to  receive  it,*  as  he 
would  have  said,  with  the  exquisite  humour,  for  which  he 
was  remarkable, — and  lost  for  a  time  that  amiability  of 
temper,  which,  according  to  the  historian,!  was  so  conspicu- 
ous in  time  of  war;  how  that  Ginkel,  his  General,  (why 
does  not  history  salute  him  by  his  more  euphonious 
designation  as  first  Earl  of  Athlone  ?)  had  much  better 
luck  next  time,  to  wit,  on  the  1st  of  July,  1691,  when,  dif- 
fering in  opinion  with  the  supercilious  Frenchman,  St.  Ruth, 
who  declared  the  thing  to  be  impossible,  even  after  it  was 


*  His  motto  was,  "  Recepi  non  rapui,"  which  Swift  happily  translated,  "the 
receiver  is  as  bad  as  the  thief." 

t  Smollett,  who  says,  "  His  conversation  was  dry,  and  his  manners  disgusting, 
except  in  battle  /" — Hume  Continued,  vol.  i.,  p.  442. 


AFHLONE. 


done,  he  boldly  crossed  the  river,  attacked,  and  took  the 
place. 

Here,  feebly  murmuring  something  about  "the  new 
bridge,  which  spans  the  noble  stream,  being  a  handsome 
structure,"  we  came  to  a  decided  check,  Frank  making  a 
cast  by  ringing  the  bell,  and  requesting  the  waiter  to 
"  bring  in  a  large  dish  of  startling  incidents,  connected  with 
the  history  of  Athlone," — an  order,  which  seemed  to  amuse 
three  good-looking  priests,  (en  rotite  for  a  Consecration  at 
Ballinasloe,  to  be  presided  over  by  Cardinal  Wiseman),  and 
who  were  discussing,  (and  why  not  ? — I'm  not  the  man,  at 
all  events,  to  write  and  tell  the  Pope,)  a  small  decanter  of 
whiskey. 

The  Shannon  is  a  glorious  river,  broad  and  deep,  and 
brimming  over,  extending,  from  source  to  sea,  a  distance  of 
two  hundred  miles,  and  "  making  its  waves  a  blessing  as 
they  flow  "  to  ten  Irish  counties.  I  should  think  that  hay 
for  the  universe  might  be  grown  upon  its  teeming  banks, 
and  we  saw  a  goodly  quantity  studding  the  fields  with  those 
(to  us)  quaint-looking  tumuli,  which,  like  the  "  hobblede- 
hoy, neither  man  nor  boy,"  are  too  large  for  haycocks,  and 
too  small  for  stacks.  Six  miles  from  Athlone,  we  pass  the 
Seven  Churches  of  Clonmacnoise,  (once,  as  its  name  signi- 


Il6  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

fies,  the  Eton  of  Ireland,  "  the  school  of  the  sons  of  the 
nobles,")  by  whom  despoiled  and  desecrated  we  English 
need  not  pause  to  inquire ;  and  close  to  these  a  brace  of 
those  famous  Round  Towers,  which  have  so  perplexed  the 
archaeological  world,  and  which,  according  to  Frank,  were, 
"  most  probably  Light-houses,  which  had  come  ashore  at 
night  for  a  spree,  and  had  forgotten  the  way  back 
again." 

The  scenery,  which  at  first  is  flat  and  uninteresting, 
except  to  an  agricultural  eye,  increases  in  attraction,  as  you 
progress  towards  Limerick,  and  is  exceedingly  beautiful 
about  Lough  Derg.  There  are  delightful  residences  on 
either  side,  of  which  we  admired  particularly  Portumna, 
my  Lord  Clanricarde's*  and  a  place  called  Derry.  The 
view  from  the  upper  windows  of  this  latter  home  must  be 
"  a  sight  to  make  an  old  man  young."  The  mountains, 
inclosed  and  cultivated,  have  a  tame  unnatural  look,  as 
though  they  had  been  brought  here  from  Connamara,  and 
been  broken  to  carry  corn ;  and  they  wear  a  strange,  un- 
comfortable aspect,  like  some  Cherokee  Chief  in  the  silk 
stockings  and  elegant  attire  of  our  Court. 

*  Would  that  his  motto  were  the  watchword  for  every  Irishman: — 
"  Ungfoy,  ungroy,  ung  lay  I" 


THE    SHANNON. 


Here  and  there,  in  mid-stream,  are  beacons  of  an 
original  pattern. 

The  cormorants  flew  heavily 
away  before  us,  but  the  heron 
moved  not  from  the  sighing 
sedge,  —  still  and  grey  as  the 
stone  on  which  he  stood,  —  nor 
seemed  to  note  the  seething  wa- 
ters, which  swelled  around  him 
as  the  steamer  passed. 

Aye,  and  how  touchingly 
that  silent  bird,  with  his  keen 
gaze,  steadfastly  fixed,  and  his 
every  thought  concentrated,  upon  one  object  reminded  me 
(if,  for  a  moment,  I  may  assimilate  the  Queen  of  my  soul 
to  a  gudgeon)  of  myself;  for  alas,  I  was  again  in  love ! 
As  soon  as  ever  I  set  foot  on  the  steamer,  I  knew  it  was 
all  over,  though  she  was  a  long  way  off. 

"It  would  have  been  well,"  writes  Mr.  Froude,  "for 
Henry  VIII.  if  he  could  have  lived  in  a  world,  in  which 
women  could  have  been  dispensed  with  ;"  and  it  would  be 
better  no  doubt  for  the  susceptible  tourist,  if  there  were 
fewer  pretty  girls  in  Ireland.  In  vain,  I  groaned 


n8 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


"  O  intermissa,  Venus,  diu, 
Rursus  bella  moves  !     Farce,  precor,  preror  ! 

for  she  wouldn't  parce  at  any  price ;  and  by  the  time  we 
arrived  at  Clonmacnoise,  I  was  in  a  state  of  most  abject  in- 
fatuation. Frank  proposed  to  bleed  me  with  a  large  fishing- 

knife,  and  would 
keep  feeling  my 
pulse,  with  his  watch 
in  his  hand,  in  an 
exceedingly  frivol- 
^  ous  manner.  But  I 
suffered  severely,  in 
spite  of  frequent 
beer,  until  a  late 
period  of  the  even- 
ing,  when  my 
wounded  spirit,  in 
the  smoke-room  at 
Limerick,  at  last 
found  relief  in  song. 
THE  BELLE  OF  THE  SHANNON.* 

J.  And  suspirashuns,  Of  maidens  pretty, 

With  swate  sensashuns.         Which  thrill  me  through  !      A  tender  ditty 
And  palpitashuns,  Here  in  Limerick,  city  I'll  chant  to  you. 

*  The  title  and  metre  are  suggested  by  Mahony's  most  musical  verses  in 
praise  of  The  Bells  of  Shandon. 


THE    BELLE    OF    THE    SHANNON. 


XVith  maid  and  man  on, 
A  stamer  ran  on, 
Where  silver  Shannon 

In  glory  glames  ! 
Shure,  all  big  rivers 
He  bates  to  shivers, 
Rowling  majestic, 

This  King  o'  Strames  ! 


With  eyes  like  mayteors, 
And  parfect  phaytures, 
Which  aisy  bate  yours, 

Great  Vanus,  fair ! 
I'll  ne'er  forget  her, 
As  first  I  met  her, 
On  (what  place  betther  ?) 

The  cabin  stair ! 


III. 

There,  blandly  baming, 
As  we  went  staming, 
Och,  was  I  draming  ? 

I  first  did  note, 
Such  a  swate  fairy, 
As  super  mare, 
No,  nor  yet  in  acre, 

Did  iver  float ! 


VI. 

Her  darlint  face  is 
Beyond  all  praises, 
And  thin  for  graces, 

There's  not  her  like. 
All  other  lasses 
She  just  surpasses, 
As  wine  molasses, 

Or  salmon  pike ! 


IV. 

Her  very  bonnet 
Desarves  a  sonnet, 
And  I'd  write  one  on  it, 

If  I'd  the  time. 
But  something  fairer, 
And  dear,  and  rarer, 
In  coorse,  the  wearer, 

Shall  have  my  rhyme. 


VII. 

Her  hair's  the  brightest, 
Her  hand  the  whitest, 
Her  step  the  lightest,— 

Ah  me,  those  fate  ! 
You  need  not  tell  a- 
-bout  Cinderella, 
For  hers  excel  a- 

-ny  boots  you'll  mate  1 


120 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


With  look  the  purest, 
That  ever  tourist, 
From  eyes  azurest, 

Saw  anywhere, 
I  met  her  blushing, 
As  I  went  rushing, 
For  bitter  beer,  down 
The  cabin  stair. 


Then  she  sat  and  smiled,  where, 
On  luggage  piled  there,* 
She  me  beguiled, — ne'er 

A  smile  like  that ! 
And  I  began  to 
Compose  a  canto 
On  Frank's  portmanteau, 

Whereon  she  sat. 


I've  read  in  story, 
What  dades  of  glory, 
Knights  grand  and  gory, 
For  love  have  wrought. 


But  ne'er  was  duel, 
Nor  torture  cruel, 
I'd  shun,  my  jewel, 
If  you  besought ! 


For  her  voice  is  swatest, 
Her  shape  the  natest, 
And  she  complatest 

Of  womankind. 
And  while  that  river, 
In  sunlight  quiver, 
Oh,  sure,  he'll  niver 
Her  aqual  find. 


Troth,  since  we've  parted 
I've  felt  down-hearted, 
And  disconsarted, — 

A  cup  too  low! 
And  so  I  think,  boys, 
We'd  better  drink,  boys, 
Her  health  in  whiskey. 

Before  we  go. 


*  This  luggage  included  a  long  narrow  box,  and,  from  an  aperture  at  the  top 
there  emerged  from  time  to  time  a  peacock's  head,  exhibiting  (despite  the  presence 
of  Juno)  an  expression  of  sublime  misery.  I  doubt  whether  that  bird  will  ever 
take  heart  to  spread  his  tail  again  ! 


THE    BELLE    OF   THE    SHANNON.  121 

"  He'll  forget  her  to-morrow  morning,"  said  Frank  to 
his  neighbour,  in  a  pretended  whisper,  which  all  could  hear, 
"  and  it's  better  so,  poor  fellow,  for  the  girl's  ridiculously 
fond  of  me,  and  I've  got  no  end  of  her  hair  in  my 
pocket." 

Of  course,  there  were  plenty  of  fools  to  giggle ;  but  I 
never  could  see  any  wit  in  lies.  I  am  quite  positive, 
that,  when  we  parted,  she  returned  my  regretful  gaze, 
and 

"  Phyllida  amo  ante  alias ;  nam  me  discedere  flevit" 


122 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


LIMERICK. 

NDOUBTEDLY, 

there  is  solace  for 
the  forlorn  in  the 
pleasant  city  of 
Limerick.  Justly 
celebrated  for  its 
Hooks,  it  is  far 
more  to  be  ad- 
m  ired  for  its 
Eyes,  for,  al- 
though the  form- 
er are  the  best  in 
the  world,  the  lat- 
ter^are  much  more  killing !  No  sooner  did  we  emerge  from 
Mr.  Cruise's  very  excellent  and  extensive  hotel,  than  we 
were  attacked  and  surrounded  by  the  lace-girls,  in  their  blue 
cloaks,  drooping  gracefully,  with  heads  uncovered,  or 


LIMERICK. 


123 


rather  most  becomingly  covered  with  thick  and  glossy 
hair.  At  first,  we  recklessly  resolved  to  cut  a  way  through 
with  our  umbrellas,  or  perish  in  the  attempt,  but  the  utter 
hopelessness  of  such  a  fearful  step  induced  us  finally  to 
capitulate,  the  Siege  of  Limerick  was  raised,  and  com- 
mercial relations  peacefully  established  between  the  be- 
siegers and  besieged.  I  did  just  venture  to  inquire  what 
use  I  could  posssibly  make  of  four  superficial  inches  of  fine 
linen,  surrounded  by  very  delicate  open-work,  not  less  than 
a  foot  in  width,  and  was  immediately  answered,  "  And 
shure,  yer  honner  '11  be  for  buying  the  handkercher,  to  dry- 
up  the  tares  of  the  swate  young  lady,  as  is  waping  for  ye 
over  the  says."  We  would  have  it,  of  course,  and  the 
"  splendid  pair  o'  slaves,"  and  a  miscellaneous  assortment, 
which  created  an  immense  sensation  on  our  return  home, 
and  were  declared  to  be  both  pretty  and  cheap ;  for  "  when 
maidens  sue,  men  give  like  gods,"  or  geese,  as  the  case 
may  be ;  and  such  winning  looks  of  tender  entreaty  came 
from  under  those  long  dark  eye-lashes,  that  I  really  believe 
their  owners  could'  have  persuaded  us  to  purchase  a  complete 
collection  of  poisonous  reptiles,  or  a  copy  of  "  Gems  from 
Spurgeon."  They  were  not  so  successful  with  a  morose 
old  gentleman,  who  could  see  no  beauty  in  their  "darlint 


124  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


collars;"  and  they  quite  failed  in  an  attempt,  evidently  per- 
sisted in  for  their  own  amusement,  to  dispose  of  some 
beautiful  little  babies'-caps,  to  a  waspish  girl  of  sixty-five  ! 

Limerick  is  divided  into  three  parts,  the  Irish  town,  the 
English  town,  and  Nevutown  Perry  (so  called  after  a  Mr. 
Sexton  Perry,  who  commenced  it) ;  and  these  are  connected 
by  bridges,  of  which  the  old  Thomond,  hard  by  King 
Johns  Castle,  and  the  new  Wellesley,  said  to  have  cost 
85,ooo/.,  are  interesting.  The  eccentricities  of  the  work- 
men must  have  added  materially  to  the  costliness  of  the 
latter  structure,  inasmuch  as  they  seem  to  have  been  Odd 
Fellows  as  well  as  very  Free  Masons,  who,  instead  of 
cementing  stones  and  friendships,  only  turned  the  former 
into  stumbling  blocks  for  the  latter,  by  throwing  them  at 
each  other's  heads.  Every  day  an  animated  faction-fight, 
between  the  boys  of  Clare  and  the  boys  of  Limerick,  was 
got  up  (instead  of  the  bridge),  until  at  length  it  was  found 
necessary  to  bring  out  an  armed  force,  to  keep  order 
on  this  Pons  Asinorum. 

The  main  street  of  Newtown  Perry,  in  which  is  Cruise's 
Hotel,  is  a  long  and  handsome  one  ;  and  what's  more,  you 
may  buy  some  good  cigars  in  it,  a  rare  refreshment  in  Ire- 
land 


LIMERICK. 


I25 


We  went  to  see  the  Cathedral  (partly  out  of  compliment 
to  the  memory  of  good  Bishop  Jebb) ;  but  its  iron  gates 
were  scrupulously  locked.  Perhaps,  had  they  been  open, 
we  should  not  have  ventured  within,  for  the  building  had  a 
grim  uninviting  look,  and  seemed  as  though  it  despised 
us  thoroughly  for  daring  to  come  when  it  was'nt  service- 
time.  I  should  not  have  been  at  all  surprised,  if  "a  variety 
of  humbugs  in  cocked-hats "  had  sallied  forth  to  dis- 
perse us. 

One  of  the  lace-girls,  for  they  had  followed  us,  with 
reduced  prices  and  a  fresh  supply  of  their  pretty  work,  told 
us,  as  we  turned  from  the  gate,  that  "  during  the  grate 
sage  o'Limerick  there  was  a  mighty  big  gun  on  the  top  of 
that  church,  that  kept  firing  away,  day  and  night." 
Whereupon  Frank  said,  that  the  interesting  fact  was  highly 
creditable  to  the  Dean  and  Chapter,  who  generally  deputed 
any  hard  work  to  one  of  the  minor  canons. 

In  which  of  the  sieges  did  the  great  gun  thunder  ?  Was 
it  that  of  1651,  when  Ireton  (whose  character  one  never 
can  identify  with  that  beautiful  portrait  engraved  by 
Houbraken,  for  how  could  such  a  noble  presence  belong  to 
a  man  "  melancholick  and  reserved,"*  and  so  wanting  in 

*  Clarendon's  History  of  the  Rebellion,  vol.  Hi.,  p.  362. 


126  A    LITTLE    TOUR   IN    IRELAND. 

personal  courage,  as  to  allow  Mr.  Holies  to  pull  him  by  the 
nose  ?  t)  died  before  the  walls  from  the  plague  ?  Or  did  it 
some  forty  years  later  send  forth  its  sulphurous  and  tor- 
menting flames,  against  "bould  Giniral  Ginkil,"  and  help  to 
expedite  that  Famous  Treaty  of  Limerick,  honourable  alike 
to  all  ? 

We  did  not  see  nor  hear  anything  of  the  great  Pig- 
Factory,  whereat  one  million  porkers  are  said  to  be  annu- 
ally slain.  A  stern  Hebrew,  of  a  truculent  taste,  might 
possibly  venture  to  settle  in  the  vicinity;  but  the  music 
must  be  too  high  by  several  octaves  for  Christians  of  the 
ordinary  stamp. 

I  wonder  whether  the  lady  still  lives  in  Limerick,  who 
had  the  passage  of  arms,  or  rather  of  legs,  with  General 
Sir  Charles  Napier.  Being,  in  the  complimentary  diction 
of  her  friends,  "a  remarkably  fine  woman,"  or,  in  the  vul- 
gar verbiage  of  irreverent  youth  "a  regular  slogger,"  she 
was  wont  to  despise  those  of  her  fellow-creatures,  who  did 
not  weigh  sixteen  stone ;  and  when  the  little  soldier  broke 
his  leg,  she  remarked  contemptuously,  "that  she  supposed 
some  fly  had  kicked  his  poor  spindle-shanks  !"  It  so  hap- 
pened that,  just  as  he  recovered,  the  large  lady  met  with  a 

t  Birch's  Lives  of  Illustrious  Persons,  p.  96. 


LIMERICK. 


I27 


similar  accident,  breaking  her  leg.  Napier  was  at  no  loss 
to  improve  the  occasion.  "  Going  to  her  house,"  he  says, 
"  I  told  the  servant,  how  sorry  I  was  to  hear  that  a  bul- 
lock had  kicked  his  mistress,  and  injured  its  leg  -eery 
much  ;  and  that  I  had  called,  in  consequence,  to  inquire 
whether  her  leg  was  at  all  hurt  ?  " 

We  left  Limerick  for  Killarney,  by  the  mail  train,  at 
11:30  A.M.,  entering  the  main  line  of  the  Great  Southern 
and  Western  Railway  after  an  hour's  travelling,  progress- 
ing thereon  as  far  as  Mallow  (the  town  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Blackwater,  with  its  church,  and  trees,  and  picturesque 
bridge,  is  a  sweet  little  'study,'  and  looked  as  though  the 
sun  shone  there  always);  and  thence  by  a  branch  line  to 
Killarney,  which  we  reached  at  4  P.M.  We  passed  through 
a  country  (including  part  of  the  Golden  Vale  of  Limerick*}, 
varied,  fertile,  and  well-cultivated,  although  two  young  offi- 
cers (who  looked  at  us,  when  we  entered  their  carriage  at 
Mallow,  as  though  I  were  at  the  crisis  of  small-pox,  and 
my  friend  a  ticket-of-leave  man)  declared,  as  they  woke  up 
just  opposite  an  embankment,  that  the  scenery  was 
"  beastly  plain." 

*  "  It  extends  from  Charleville  to  Tipperary  by  Kilfinnan  nearly  thirty  miles, 
and  again  across  from  Ardpatric  to  within  a  short  distance  of  Limerick  city,  six- 
teen miles." — Saxon  in  Ireland,  p.  101. 


128 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


KILLARNEY. 


[HERE  are  words  which,  although  unno- 
ticed in  the  delightful  treatises  of  the 
Dean  of  Westminster  (may  his  fame 
increase  !),  have  a  strong,  strange  power 
upon  the  heart,  —  words  which  can  ring 
for  us,  listening  by  the  brookside,  and  in  arbours  and 
meadow-haunts  once  more,  the  joy-bells  of  a  former  mirth, 


KILLARNKV. 


I29 


or  toll  above  past  sorrows  and  buried  hopes  their  muffled 
and  mournful  peal.  Breathes  there,  for  instance,  a  man 
with  soul  so  dead,  who  can  hear  of  a  primrose -bank,  or  a 
cowslip-ball,  or  a  roly-poly  pudding,  or  a  sillabub,  or  a 
soap-bubble,  or  a  pantomime,  or  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  and 
not  feel  himself,  though  it  be  but  for  a  moment,  a  happy 
child  again  ?  And  do  we  not  realise,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  all  their  brief  intensity,  our  earliest  sorrows,  when  mem- 
ory suggests  to  us  those  solemn  sounds  of  woe,  measles, 
big-brother,  ghosts,  dentists,  castor-oil? 

And  who  (to  pass  on  to  boyhood)  can  ever  hear  of  foot- 
ball, especially  if  Tom  Brown  speak,  without  longing  for  a 
kick  to  goal  ?  Who  can  be  reminded  of  the  river,  and  not 
remember  those  summer  days,  when,  nude  and  jubilant,  we 
took  first  a  preliminary  canter  among  the  haycocks,  and 
then  "a  header"  into  the  deep,  cold  stream  ?  or,  again,  those 
merry  days  of  winter,  when,  from  our  slippery  skates  we 
took — well,  anything  but  "a  header,"  upon  its  glibly  frozen 
surface.  On  the  other  hand,  who  does  not  felicitate  himself 
that  he  has  arrived  at  man's  estate,  when  he  recalls  those 
awful  impositions  which  he  still  believes  have  softened  his 
brain,  or  when  his  memory  (not  to  particularise)  is  ting- 
ling at  the  idea  of  birch,  and  contemplating  a  "Visita- 

9 


130  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

tion  of  Arms  and  Seats,"  long  anterior  to  Mr.  Bernard 
Burke's. 

Chiefly,  perhaps,  when  we  come  to  shave,  or,  more 
wisely,  to  cherish  instead  of  destroying  (with  many  a 
grimace  and  groan),  those  healthful  adjuncts  to  manly 
beauty,  "guas  Natura  sud  spontc  siiggerit"  is  felt  this  great 
influence  of  words.  I  have  seen  the  cheek  of  a  pallid  friend 
suddenly  to  assume  the  hues  of  a  peony,  the  rich  crimson 
tint  of  dining-room  curtains,  at  mention  of  the  name  of 
"Rose;"  and  I  remember  how  a  Brasenose  man,  whose 
fresh  ruddy  countenance  was  much  more  suggestive  of 
Burton-upon-Trent  than  it  was  upon  Burton  upon  Melan- 
choly, and  whom  we  called  Chief  Mourner,  because  he  was 
always  first  after  the  bier,  would  become  colourless,  and 
"  pale  his  ineffectual  fire,"  at  the  very  sound  of  Blanche. 
Nor  do  I  see  any  discredit  in  confessing  my  own  inability 
to  hear  certain  sweet  Christian-Names  (sixteen  in  all,  but 
nine  in  particular),  without  emotion  of  a  troublous,  but 
delightful,  character. 

And  as  at  this  era,  just  as  in  the  two  preceding  it,  there 
are  special  words  which  brings  joy  and  animation  to  man 
(let  me  briefly  instance,  gone -away,  mark-ivoodcock,  sillery, 
deux -temps),  so  there  are  terms  of  terror  (e.  g.j'ilt,  tailor, 


KILLARNEY. 


Little-Go,  writ-server,  poacher,  vulpicide),  of  potent  and 
cruel  import. 

I  might  amplify  for  my  readers  this  etymological  treat. 
I  might  expatiate  on  the  different  effects  produced  by  the 
same  word  upon  different  minds,  videlicet,  by  the  word 
Tally-ho,  as  heard  at  the  covert-side  by  sportsman  or  by 
muff,  by  the  man  who  rides  with  hounds,  or  the  skirting 
path-finder  who  rides  without  them ;  but  I  have  already 
travelled  by  a  too  circuitous  noute  to  my  conclusion, — that 
it  is  sweet  to  hear  the  mere  names  of  those  things,  which 
are  pleasant  and  loveable  in  themselves,  and  that  to  those 
who  have  seen  the  Irish  lakes,  the  word  Killarney  is  "a 
joy  for  ever." 

Coming  so  immediately  from  the  wild  grandeur  of 
Connamara  to  these  scenes  of  tranquil  beauty,  I  think  that 
our  first  view  of  the  Lakes,  as  we  left  the  Victoria  Hotel, 
was  rather  a  disappointment.  The  landscape  (or  water- 
scape ?)  was  so  calm  and  still,  that  it  had  somewhat  of  a 
dioramic  effect,  and  one  almost  expected  to  see  it  move 
slowly  onwards  to  an  accompaniment  of  organ  music.  But 
as  the  olive  lends  a  zest  to  generous  wine,  even  so  this  tiny 
discontentment  served  but  to  enhance  our  subsequent  and 
full  fruition.  For,  once  upon  the  waters,  you  become  forth- 


132  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

with  convinced,  not  only  how  impossible  it  is  to  exag- 
gerate the  beauties  of  Killarney  (as  well  might  a  painter 
essay  to  flatter  or  improve  a  sunset),  but  for  pen  or  pencil 
to  do  them  justice. 

There  is  such  infinite  variety,  from  the  white  and  golden 
lilies,  (which,  close  to  land,  look  like  miniature  canoes,  from 
which  fairy  watermen  have  just  sprung  lightly  ashore),  to 
the  towering  heights  and  aeries  ;  such  diversity  of  tint  and 
outline  in  the  mountains,  tree-clothed  from  crown  to  base ; 
in  those  "islets  so  freshly  fair;"  and  in  those  dancing 
waters,  which  raise  their  smiling  waves  to  kiss  the  flowers 
and  ferns ;  such  contrasts,  and  yet  such  a  perfect  whole,  of 
wood  and  water,  ""harmoniously  confused ;"  such  trans- 
formations, wrought  by  cloud  and  breeze,  yet  always 
such  complete  repose ;  that  the  eye  can  never  weary. 

We  hired  a  boat,  and  set  forth  for  Innisf alien,  just  at 
that  delightful  time  between  sunset  and  moonrise, 


"  When  in  the  crimson  cloud  of  even 

The  lingering  light  decays, 
And  Hesper,  on  the  front  of  Heaven, 
His  glittering  gem  displays." 


Presently,    the    moon    came    up    above    those    lofty 


INMSFALLLN. 


'33 


hills,*  and  as  bugle  music  from  the  returning  boats  was 
wafted  over  the  shining  waters,  and  lost  itself  among  the 
mountains,  we  turned  to  each  other,  Frank  and  I,  at  the 
same  moment,  with  those  thrilling  lines, 

"  O  hark  !   O  hear  !  how  thin  and  clear ; 

And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going. 
O,  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar, 

The  horns  of  Llf-land  faintly  blowing. 
Blow  !   let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying. 
Blow,  bugle;  answer  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying!" 

Indeed,  you  would  suppose  that  Tennyson  must  have 
written  this  heart-stirring  song  at  Killarney,  did  not  the 
engraving  prefixed  to  it,  represent  so  different  and  dis- 
mally inferior  a  scene.  To  look  and  listen,  as  we  rowed 
slowly  onwards,  seemed  to  be  more  happiness  than  we, 
undeserving,  could  at  once  enjoy ;  and  it  required  a  con- 
templation of  meaner  things,  to  convince  us  that  the  whole 
scene  was  not,  in  the  words  of  Ireland's  poet,  writing  at 
Killarney,  and  of  it, — 

"  One  of  those  dreams,  that  by  music  are  brought, 

Like  a  light  summer-haze,  o'er  the  poet's  warm  thought." 

*  In  a  Trip  to  Ireland,  by  a  Cambridge  M.  A.  (1858).  there  is  written, 
gravely  written,  at  page  18,  the  following  most  original  simile:  "Just  over  yon 
steep  acclivity  hangs  a  crescent  moon,  like  a  silver  knocker  on  the  star-studded 
gate  of  heaven,  and  one  can  almost  fancy  some  angel-warder  will,  ere  long, 
break  the  silence  with  the  gracious  invitation,  '  Come  up  hither.  " 


134  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

So  we  lit  our  pipes,  and  then  the  boatmen,  whose  col- 
loquial powers  we  generally  evoked,  as  we  tendered  the 
calumet,  or  rather  the  tobacco-pouch,  of  friendship,  began 
to  tell  us,  how,  once  upon  a  time,  it  was  all  dry  land  about 
here  ;  how  some  indiscreet,  but  anonymous  individual  had 
removed  the  lid  from  an  enchanted  well ;  and  how  the  en- 
chanted well  had  set  to  work,  in  consequence,  aird  had 
flooded  the  valley  in  which  stood  the  palace  of  King 
O'Donoghue,  so  suddenly,  that  a  facetious  sentinel  had 
only  just  time  to  shout  "All's  Well!"  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  when  the  waters,  rising  above  his  chin,  and  entering 
his  vocal  orifice,  put  a  stop  to  further  elocution. 

It  does  not  appear,  as  ordinary  minds  might  have 
expected,  that  the  prospects  or  spirits  of  the  O'Donoghue 
were  at  all  damped  by  this  proceeding ;  and  though  his 
property  seemed  to  be  hopelessly  "dipped,"  and  his  capital 
to  be  sunk  beyond  all  recovery,  he  contrived  not  only  to 
get  his  head  above  water,  but  even  to  ride  the  high  horse 
afterwards.  For  the  boatmen  say,  that  the  royal  edifice 
still  remains,  with  all  its  inmates,  unaltered  and  unalter- 
able, at  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  and  there  the  king  enter- 
tains his  court,  with  fish-dinners  and  aquatic  fetes  on  an 
unprecedented  scale  of  magnificence,  save  when  requiring 


INNISFALLEN. 


air  and  exercise,  he  rides  over  the  waters  on  a  snowy  steed, 
and  turns  the  whole  locality  into  an  Irish  "Vale  of  White 
Horse."  "And  there's  plinty  as  has  seen  him,  your 
'onnour,"  (so  said  the  bow-oar  historian),  "and  will  take 
their  swear  of  it — glowry  to  God  !"  Very  little  glowry, 
thought  I,  from  the  perjury  of  these  delectable  witnesses, 
who  must  have  seen  this  quaint  display  of  horsemanship 
through  a  "summer  haze"  of  whiskey,  and  been  very 
deliriously  drunk.  But  our  boat  touches  Innisfallen. 

Everyone  falls  in  love  with  this  sweet  little  island.  It 
has  such  grand,  old,  giant  trees,  such  charming  glades  and 
undulations,  "  green  and  of  mild  declivity,"  that  here, 
childhood  might  play,  manhood  make  love,  and  old  age 
meditate,  unwearied,  from  morn  to  night.  Mr.  Grieve 
would,  in  spite  of  his  name,  be  joyful,  to  wander  through 
its  vistas  and  alleys  green,  and  find  fresh  scenes  for  his 
canvas.  What  dear  little  glens,  what  "  banks  and  braes  " 
for  the  fairies.  Can  this  be  Titania  coming  towards  us 
over  the  moonlit  sward,  and  leaning  upon  the  arm  of 
Oberon  ?  No  ;  it  is  a  couple  of  nuptial  neophytes,  looking 
so  happy,  that,  as  they  pass,  I  could  take  off  my  hat 
and  cheer.  Ah,  if  fair  Innisfallen  is  so  beautiful  to  us 
poor  bachelors  by  ordinary  moonlight,  what  must  it  be  to 


136  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Benedict,  to  the  man  in  the  moon  of  honey  ?  What  must 
be  the  happiness  of  my  Lord  Castlerosse,  the  eldest  son  of 
the  Lord  of  the  Isles  of  Killarney,  who  has  just  brought 
home  his  bride  ?* 

Were  I  ever  constrained  to  be  a  monk  and  celibate,  I 
should  wish  my  monastery  to  be  at  Innisfallen,  and 
I  admire  the  taste  of  St.  Finian  (an  ancestor,  I  presume,  of 
Mr.  Finn,  our  estimable  host  at  the  Victoria  Hotel),  who, 
some  thirteen  hundred  years  ago,  selected  this  island  for 
his  retreat.  The  picturesque  ruins  of  an  ancient  abbey 
still  attest,  that  long  after  his  time,  men  sought,  in  this 
sylvan  solitude,  that  peace  which  they  found  not  in 
the  world. 

Sweet  Innisf alien  !  "  thy  praise  is  hymned  by  loftier 
harps  than  mine,"  so  lofty  indeed,  that  my  obtuse  under- 
standing is  unable  to  read  some  of  their  music,  as,  for 
instance,  where  Moore  sings, 

"  The  steadiest  light  the  sun  e'er  threw 
Is  lifeless  to  one  gleam  of  thine.' 

And,  therefore,  in  plain  prose,  but  with  a  full  heart, 
Good  night ! 

*  August,  1858. 


K.ILLARNEY. 


'37 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


KILLARNEY. 

A  CAR  and  guide,  as  per  order,  were  waiting  for 
us,  when  we  had  breakfasted  next  morning,  and  we 
set  forth  for  the  Gap  of  Dunloe.  Entering  upon  the  main 
road,  we  seemed  to  be  in  a  drying-ground  of  immense  pro- 
portions, with  its  perpetual  posts  and  endless  clothes-lines, 
extending  along  the  wayside  for  miles.  But  it  proved  to 
be  a  continuation  of  that  faithless  messenger,  the  Atlantic 
telegraph,  on  its  way  between  Valencia  and  the  rail. 
Passing  the  ruins  of  Aghadoe,  church,  castle,  and  tower, 
and  shortly  afterwards  those  of  Kittaloe,  we  cross  the  river 
Laune,  over  a  charming  old  bridge,  and  get  views  of 
the  great  Tomies  Mountain,  and  also  of  Macgillicmidy  s 
Recks.  Miles,  our  guide,  a  most  intelligent  and  civil  one, 
here  told  lis  the  story,  or  rather  one  of  the  stories,  concern- 
ing the  latter  mountains. 


138  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

It  seems  that  Mr.  Macgillicuddy,  a  gentleman  of  exten- 
sive estates  in  this  neighbourhood,  went  to  visit  some 
friends  in  England,  and  took  with  him  an  Irish  servant, 
more  prone  to  patriotism  than  truth.  Whatever  he  saw 
among  the  Saxons  was  just  nothing  at  all,  at  all,  to  what 
might  be  seen  in  Ireland.  In  short,  he  would  have  been  a 
most  appropriate  attendant  upon  that  Hibernian,  who, 
being  asked  why  he  wept  at  sight  of  Greenwich  Hospital, 
replied  with  sorrowful  emotion,  "  Ah,  sure,  the  buildings 
there  remind  me  of  mee  dear  father's  stables !" 

Now  it  befell  that  the  English  gentleman,  possessing  a 
large  extent  of  rich  meadow  land,  took  especial  delight  in 
his  haystacks,  and  his  valet,  sympathising  with  his  master's 
vanity  (as  all  good  valets  should),  soon  led  the  Irishman  to 
look  at  the  stack-yard,  expecting  to  see  him  mightily 
astonished ;  but  Paddy,  having  gazed  around  with  the 
most  sublime  indifference,  coolly  said,  "  It's  a  nice  bit 
o'  grass  you've  brought  home  here  for  present  use ;  now  let 
us  have  a  peep  at  the  ricks." 

"  Ricks  !  "  exclaimed  the  Englishman,  "  why  these 
be  they." 

"Well,  then,"  says  Paddy,  "I'll  just  tell  ye:  there's 
about  enough  hay  in  this  stackyard  to  make  the  bands  for 


THE    STORY    OF    MACGILLICUDDY'S    REEKS.  139 

thatching  my  master's  ricks.  Happen  "  (this  he  added  as 
though  he  wished  to  be  liberal,  and  to  pay  his  companion 
a  compliment),  "  there  might  be  a  couple  of  yards  or  so  to 
spare." 

You  may  imagine  that  when,  in  the  following  year,  the 
English  valet  came  with  his  master  to  return  the  visit  at 
Killarney,  he  was  not  long  before  he  requested  his  Irish 
friend  to  favour  him  with  a  view  of  the  haystacks.  To  be 
sure  he  would,  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  and  sorry  he 
was  to  be  prevented  by  circumstances  (over  which,  he 
might  have  added,  he  had  every  control),  from  making  the 
inspection  before  evening.  Accordingly,  in  the  dusk  and 
gloom  of  twilight,  he  took  the  Englishman  forth,  and 
showed  him,  dim  in  the  distance,  this  lofty  mountain  range. 
"  There  are  our  ricks,"  said  he. 

In  that  belief  the  astonished  stranger  slept ;  and 
ever  since  that  time  men  call  these  hills  Macgillicuddy's 
Reeks  ! 

Mr.  Miles,  in  the  next  place,  made  our  fingers  to  itch, 
eyes  to  strain,  and  mouths  to  water,  as  he  told  of  red  deer 
among  the  mountains,  and  of  woodcocks  in  their  season, 
twenty  couple  to  be  bagged  per  diem.  Thus  conversing, 
we  drew  near  to  the  Gap,  and  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs. 


140  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Moriarty,  nee  Kearney,  and  granddaughter  of  the  beautiful 
Kate.  But  it  is  by  no  means  a  case  of 

"  O  matre  pulchra 
Filia  pulchrior !  " 

and  we  did  not  hesitate  to  decline  the  proffered  draught  of 
goat's  milk  and  whiskey,  although  we  implicitly  believed 
Mrs.  M.'s  assertion,  that,  if  we  drank  it,  we  should  want 
nothing  more  throughout  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

Here,  too,  we  overtook  a  car  from  Tralee,  laden  with 
pretty  girls  and  a  few  young  men  (how  we  hated  the  latter 
for  being  in  such  high  spirits,  thought  them  vulgar  snobs 
when  they  laughed,  and  coarsely  familiar  whenever  they 
spoke  !) — not  from  any  rapidity  of  pace  on  our  part,  but 
because  the  Tralee  horses  judiciously  jibbed  at  anything 
like  a  rise  in  the  road ;  and  then  off  jumped  the  pretty  girls, 
like  doves  from  eave  to  earth,  but  being,  in  their  pecu- 
liar grace  and  pleasant  coo,  immeasurably  superior  to 
pigeons. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  Gap,  the  scene  was  a  most  lively 
and  attractive  one.  Here  the  cars  are  sent  back,  as 
the  journey  through  the  Pass  must  be  made  on  ponies 
or  afoot,  and  there  was  quite  a  merry  little  congress 


THE    GAP   OF   DUNLOE.  141 


of  visitors,  guides,  cars,  and  steeds.  At  length,  the  proces- 
sion started,  and  a  very  picturesque  one, — void! 

The  Gap  of  Dunloe  is  a  wild  ravine,  a  defile  through 
the  mountains  (on  the  right  are  the  Reeks,  and  on  the 
left  the  Tomies,  Glena,  and  the  Purple  Mountain},  which, 
rising  on  either  side,  dark,  stern,  and  sterile,  with  no  great 
interval  between,  impart  a  solemn  grandeur  to  the  Pass. 
The  river  Loe  flows  beneath  the  huge  blocks  of  stone  which 
have  fallen  from  the  rocks  above — heard,  but  not  seen, 
except  in  the  small  lakes  which  occur  at  the  intervals,  and 
which,  still  and  gloomy,  add  much  to  this  impressive  scene. 
One  of  these  is  called  the  Serpent's  Lake,  because  St. 
Patrick,  having  caught  the  last  snake  in  Ireland,  put  it  into 
a  big  box  (for  reasons  best  known  to  himself),  and  flung  it 
into  this  pool. 

The  most  striking  thing  we  saw  as  we  went  through  the 
Gap  were  some  snow-white  goats  on  the  lofty  summit  of 
the  Purple  Mountain  ;  for  the  latter  really  is  of  a  distinct 
purple  tint  (not  from  heather,  but  from  the  colour  of  the 
stone) ;  and  the  contrast  in  the  sunlight  was  very  beau- 
tiful. 

Frank  insisted  upon  seeing  an  eagle,  and  continually 
pointed  to  the  precipices  above,  believing  that  he  descried 


142  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

the  king  of  birds.  Miles  did  condescend  to  say  that  one 
of  the  objects  to  which  Frank  drew  our  attention  was  not 
so  very  unlike  at  a  distance,  but  that  the  resemblance  was 
lost  as  you  approached  the  reality — a  piece  of  rock  not  less 
than  twenty  feet  high.  At  last  we  actually  beheld  a  very 
large  bird  soaring  towards  us  with  considerable  dignity. 
Frank  was  delighted ;  and  when  Miles  uttered  the  dissyl- 
lable "raven,"  I  certainly  thought  he  would  have  hit  him. 
There  are  eagles  in  this  neighbourhood  beyond  a  doubt 
(though  Frank  surveyed  it  with  an  incredulous  and  sarcas- 
tic air) ;  but  they  are  not  very  likely  to  be  much  at  home 
when  bugles  are  playing  and  cannons  roaring  from  morn 
to  dewy  eve. 

Emerging  from  the  Gap,  we  were  "  to  save  a  mile,  and 
see  the  best  of  the  scenery,"  and  to  effect  this,  we  were 
taken  over  a  country,  which  is,  I  dare  say,  a  pleasant  one 
for  Mrs.  Moriarty's  goats,  but  to  bipeds  in  boots  (and  one 
must  be  neat,  you  know,  with  so  many  pretty  girls  about), 
is  by  no  means  of  an  agreeable  character.  To  derive  con- 
solation from  the  calamities  of  others  is  humilating,  but 
natural;  "  il  y  a  toujours  quelque  chose"  says  the  French 
cynic,  "  qui  nous  ne  deplait  point,  dans  les  malheurs 
d'autrui ;"  and  I  found,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  considerable 


THE    GAP   OF    DUNLOE. 


'43 


refreshment  in  surveying  the  distress  of  a  portly  old  gentle- 
man, who,  impinging  a  good  deal  on  the  craggiest  parts, 
"  larded  the  lean  earth  as  he  walked  alone." 

o* 

"  and  planted  hard, 

As  one  who  feels  a  nightmare  in  his  bed, 
When  all  the  house  is  mute." 

t 

I  saw  from  the  knolls  and  undulations,  which  diversified 
the  surface  of  his  enormous  shoes,  that  his  Pilgrim's 
Progress  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  Bunyan's,  although 
his  adjurations  were  not  of  that  pious  kind,  which  would 
have  issued  from  the  lips  of  the  "  preaching  tinker,"  and 
the  deities,  to  whom  he  referred  in  his  affliction,  were, 
principally,  Zounds  and  Jingo. 

But  we  soon  found  a  truer  solace  in  the  view  of  Coom 
Dhuv,  the  Black  Valley,  and  in  listening  to  the  roar  of  its 
mountain  streams,  which,  rising  and  falling  upon  the 
breeze,  sounded  as  though  some  monster  train  bore  giants 
over  the  hills,  at  express  speed,  with  Gog  and  Magog  for 
Guard  and  Stoker  ! 

Lo !  the  dark  valley  darkens,  and  its  foaming  waterfalls 
seem  to  whiten  beneath  the  low  black  clouds ;  and  we  stay 
not  to  visit  the  Logan  Stone,  which  a  child  may  move,  but 
nothing  under  an  earthquake  could  dislodge ;  but  hasten, 


144 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


by  Lord  Brandon's  Cottage,  to  the  Upper  Lake,  where,  a 
boat  awaiting  us,  we  embark  for  Rohnaine's  Island.  Here, 
before  a  glowing  fire,  a  fresh-caught  salmon,  cut  into  steaks, 

was  broiling  on  arbutus  skivers ; 
and  the  founder  of  the  feast, 
an  Irish  gentleman,  whom  we 
brought  from  the  shore  in  our 
boat,  hospitably  invited  us  to 
postpone  our  luncheon  until  riis 
guests  arrived.  Hungry,  and 
anxious  to  proceed,  we  declined 
his  courteous  offer ;  but  we  should 
not  have  done  so,  had  we  been 
aware  that  he  was  awaiting  the 
delightful  party  from  Tralec. 
Alas,  just  as  we  had  commenced  our  repast,  and  the  boat 
so  preciously  freighted  was  descried  in  the  distance,  our 
pluvial  fears  were  realised, 

"  And,  in  the  scowl  of  heaven,  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  we  were  speaking." 

It  was  piteous  to  see  those  girls  come  ashore,  with  the 
gentlemen's  overcoats  enveloping   their   fairy  forms,   and 


ROHNAINE'S  ISLAND. 


'45 


protecting  their  best  bonnets ;  and  I  never  experienced  so 
strong  a  desire  in  my  life  to  be  transformed  into  a 
gig-umbrella. 

Suddenly  the  weather  brightened,  but  not  so  the 
prospects  of  the  pretty  pic-nic.  There  was  a  brief  col- 
loquy between  master  and  men,  sounds  of  surprise  and 
disappointment,  not  loud  but  deep,  and  then  a  general 
laughter,  but 
dismally  arti- 
ficial ;  for  the 
knives,  and 
the  plates, 
and  the  wine, 
the  bread, 
everything, 
in  fact,  ex- 
cept the  sal- 
mon,just  rea- 
dy in  its  hot 
perfection, 
had  been  sent 
to  the  wrong 
Island  ! 
Thither,  to 


146  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

our  grim  despair,  went  forth  the  Belles  from  Tralee  ;  and,  by 
the  bones  of  St.  Lumbago  of  Sciatica,  I  could  have  plunged 
into  the  flood,  and  followed  in  their  lee,  had  I  not  been  cog- 
nisant of  a  certain  "  alacrity  in  sinking,"  which  prevents 
the  simultaneous  removal  of  both  my  legs  from  the  bot- 
tom. What  would  I  not  have  given,  to  have  changed 
places  with  the  cockswain !  I  should  have  felt  proud  and 
happy  as  he  who  steered  the  immortal  Seven  at  Henley,  or 
as  Edgar  the  Peaceable,  when,  keeping  his  court  at  Chester, 
and  having  a  mind  to  go  by  water  to  the  monastery  of  St. 
John  Baptist,  he  was  rowed  down  the  Dee  in  a  barge 
by  eight  Kings,  himself  sitting  at  the  helm.  * 

We  mourned  awhile,  but  the  spirit  of  youth  endures 
not  to  sorrow  long.  It  bends  low,  but  it  will  not  break. 
It  rises  again  in  all  its  freshness  after  two  glasses  of  bitter 
beer,  with  just  a  mouthful  of  whiskey ;  and  we  soon  looked 
our  affliction  in  the  face  like  men,  and  played  the  nightin- 
gale upon  our  empty  bottles.  I  have  studied  somewhat 
sedulously  to  imitate,  with  a  moistened  cork  upon  glass, 
"  de  nightingirl,  de  lark,  de  trush "  (as  the  ever-to-be- 
retained  Von  Joel  hath  it),  and  the  performance  was  so 
successful,  that  two  finches  perched,  attentively,  within  a 

*  Rapin,  vol.  i.,  p.  106. 


THE    UPPF.R    LAKE. 


'47 


yard  of  our  heads,  while  the  boatmen  listened  as  admiringly 
as  the  Australian  Diggers  to  the  English  lark ;  *  and  a 
newly-married  couple,  deliciously  embowered  above  us, 
conversed  as  they  sat  on  the  green,  and  said,  that  "  they 
had  never  quite  believed  the  assertion  that  Ireland  had  no 
nightingales."  But  Frank,  unhappily,  dispelled  all  these 
illusions,  by  trying  his  unpractised  hand,  and  by  educing 
such  irregular  and  feeble  chirpings,  as  would  have  dis- 
graced a  superannuated  sparrow,  or  a  torn-tit,  hopelessly 
wrestling  with  an  aggravated  form  of  diphtheria. 

The  trees,  beneath  whose  melancholy  boughs  we  had 
our  meal  and  music,  had  been  disgracefully  hacked ! 
and  more  foul  copies  of  "  the  Initials  "  were  to  be  found 
here  (with  woodcuts,  calf,  lettered)  than  in  all  Mr.  Mudie's 
Library.  If  I  had  my  will,  I  would  teach  those  trenchant 
snobs,  who,  wherever  they  go,  dishonour  England,  to  sing 
their  "  Through  the  -wood,  laddie"  to  a  much  more  doleful 
tune,  made  fast  for  a  few  hours  in  the  stocks ;  or  I  would 
endeavour  so  far  to  revive  in  their  breasts  (if  they  have  any 
breasts),  that  Druidical  veneration  for  Baal,  which  once 
prevailed  in  Ireland,  and  which  would  induce  them  to  cut 
themselves  with  their  knives,  and  to  worship  the  trees 

*  See  the  exquisite  description  in  //  is  never  t<x>  Lite  to  mend,  p.  359. 


148  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

instead  of  whittling  them.  Or,  in  illustration  of  another 
Druidical  tenet,  metempsychosis,  it  would  be  gratifying  to 
see  their  transmigration  into  woodpeckers,  condemned  for 
ever,  like  the  bird  in  the  fable,  to  seek  their  food  between 
bark  and  bole. 

We  would  fain  have  lingered  among  these  pleasant 
isles,  green  with  their  abundant  foliage,  and  contrasting 
admirably  with  the  stern  hills,  towering  over  them,  and  so 
encircling  this  Upper  Lake,  that  you  see  no  place  of  egress, 
until  you  are  close  upon  it.  As  for  comparing  it  with  the 
other  lakes,  or  with  Derwent- Water,  as  the  fashion  is,*  it 
ever  appears  to  me  the  most  ungrateful  folly,  to  depreciate 
or  to  extol  one  scene  of  beauty  by  commending  or  con- 
demning another ;  and  when  a  man  begins  with,  "Ah, 
but  you  should  see  so-and-so,"  or  "  I  assure  you,  my  dear 
fellow,  this  is  dreadfully  inferior  to  what-d'ye-call-it,"  I 
always  most  heartily  wish  him  at  the  locality  which  he 
affects  to  admire.  What  nasty,  niggardly,  uncomfortable 
minds  there  are  in  this  bilious  world  !  How  many  men, 
who,  forgetting  that  excellent  round-hand  copy,  "  Com- 


*  Any  one  who  takes  delight  in  such  comparisons  may  consult  Forbes 's  Ire- 
land, vol.  i.,  p.  229,  or  Mr.  Curvven,  whose  conclusion  is,  "  Killarney  for  a  land- 
scape, Windermere  for  a  home." 


THE    LONG    RANGE. 


149 


parisons  are  odious,"  are  never  happy  but  in  detecting 
infelicities,  and  only  strong  when  carping  at  weaknesses. 
Show  them  a  pretty  girl, — "  she  wants  animation,"  or  "  she 
wants  repose,"  —  "she  is  overdressed,"  or  "her  clothes, 
poor  thing,  must  have  been  made  in  the  village,  and  put 
on  with  a  fork."  "You  should  see  the  youngest  Miss 
Thingembob."  Tell  them  of  a  good  day's  covert-shooting 
you  have  had  in  my  Lord's  preserves,  —  out  comes  a 
note  from  their  friend  the  Duke,  who  has  beaten  you 
by  sixteen  woodcocks.  Trot  out  your  new  hunter,  and 
"  Oh,  yes,  he's  a  nice  little  horse,  but  will  never  carry  you 
with  those  forelegs.  You  must  come  over  and  look  at  an 
animal  I've  just  got  down  from  Tattersall's,  by  Snarler 
out  of  a  Humbug  mare,  and  well  up  to  twenty  stone,  sir." 
It  would  perplex  even  these  censorious  gentlemen 
to  find  any  fault  with  the  Long  Range  (which  has  nothing 
to  do  with  Sir  William  Armstrong's  Guns,  —  except  that 
the  Cannon  Rock  at  the  entrance  and  the  Gun  Rock 
by  Brickeen  Island  have  some  resemblance  to  artillery)— 
that  beautiful  river,  which  leads  from  the  Upper  to  the 
Middle  and  Lower  Lakes.  To  float  between  its  bank 
of  dark  grey  stone,  from  which  the  green  trees  droop  their 
glossy  foliage,  though,  like  the  Alpine  tannen, 


150  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


"  Rooted  in  barrenness,  where  nought  below 
Of  soil  supports  them;" 

and  the  purple  heath  and  the  Royal  Osmund,  "  half 
fountain  and  half  tree,"  lean  over  the  brimming  waters,  to 
greet  the  lily  and  the  pale  lobelia,  was  a  dream  of  happi- 
ness such  as  the  Laureate  dreamed,  when — 

"  Anight  his  shallop,  rustling  thro' 
The  low  and  bloomed  foliage,  drove 
The  fragrant  glistening  deeps,  and  clove 
The  citron-shadows  in  the  blue." 

You  enter  the  Long  Range  at  Colman's  Eye,  and  shortly 
afterwards  come  to  Colman's  Leap.  This  Colman,  once 
upon  a  time,  was  the  lord  of  the  Upper  Lake,  and,  instead 
of  following  the  example  of  his  namesake,  who,  as  a  saint 
and  peacemaker,  assisted  St.  Patrick  in  converting  Ireland 
to  Christianity,  spent  most  of  his  time  in  quarrelling  with 
the  O'Donoghue,  and  in  provoking  him  to  single  combat. 
Being  in  a  minority  at  one  of  these  divisions,  it  appeared  to 
him  a  prudential  course  to  "  hook  it,"  and,  closely  pursued 
by  his  adversary,  he  took  this  celebrated  jump  over  the 
river,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  Colman's  Leap.  The 
guides  show  you  his  footprints  on  the  rock,  and  they  nar- 
rate, moreover,  that  the  O'Donoghue,  being  a  little  out  of 


KILLARNEY. 


condition  (dropsical,  perhaps,  from  his  long  residence  under 
water),  came  up  to  the  stream  a  good  deal  blown,  and 
would  not  have  it  at  any  price. 

Now  we  pass  by  the  mountain  of  the  Eagle  s  fCest, 
a  glorious  throne  for  the  royal  bird,  and  listen,  at  the  Sta- 
tion of  Audience,  to  the  marvellous,  manifold  echoes  of  the 
bugler's  music,  as  he  wakes  the  soul  and  the  scene  with  his 
"  tender  strokes  of  Art,"  —  now  wild  and  spirit-stirring,  as 
though  kings  hunted  in  some  distant  forest,  and  now  dying, 
so  sweetly,  so  softly,  that  we  know  not  when  they  cease, 
but  listen 

"  pensively, 

As  one  that  from  a  casement  leans  his  head, 
^"!ien  midnight  bells  cease  ringing  suddenly, 
Anil  the  old  year  is  dead." 

Then  our  boat,  swiftly  as  an  arrow,  shoots  the  rapids  of 
the  Old  Weir  Bridge,  and,  having  lingered  awhile,  in  the 
pool  beyond,  to  admire  and  sketch,  we  leave  the  Middle 
Lake  (reserved  for  our  morrow's  excursion,)  on  the  right, 
and  pass  by  the  Islands  of  Dinish  and  Brickeen  to  the 
entrance  of  the  Loivcr  Lake. 

I  have  said  nothing,  and  can  say  nothing  worthily,  of 
the  trees,  which  grow  by  the  waters  of  Killarncy, — oak, 
yew,  birch,  hazel,  holly,  the  wild  apple,  and  the  mountain- 


152  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN  IRELAND. 


ash,  with  its  berries  of  vivid  red,  growing  confusedly  one 
into  the  other,  but  en  masse  of  faultless  unity.  And  among 
them,  brightest  and  greenest  of  them  all,  the  arbutus  ! 
Wherever  you  see  it,  it  gleams  amid  the  duller  tints, 
refreshing  as  a  child's  laugh  on  a  rainy  day,  or  (as  Frank 
suggested)  a  view-halloo  in  the  coverts  of  a  vulpicide,  or 
the  ace  of  trumps  in  a  bad  hand  at  whist.  Like  Xerxes, 
we  fell  in  love  with  the  arbutus  (Herodotus  and  yElian  say 
that  it  was  "a  plane  tree  of  remarkable  beauty,"  but  this 
assertion  is  self-contradictory,  and,  if  it  were  not  so,  I  am 
not,  I  hope,  so  bereft  of  the  spirit  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
as  to  care  for  historical  facts) ;  and  though  we  could  not 
pour  wine  in  honour  of  our  idol,  as  the  Romans  were  wont 
to  do,  we  drank  our  pale  ale  admiringly  beneath  its 
branches,,  and  made  a  libation  (principally  of  froth)  to  its 
roots. 

And  now  by  the  lovely  bay  of  Glena,  we  enter  the 
Lower  Lake.  In  front  of  Lord  Kenmare's  Cottage,  to 
which  visitors  have  access,*  numerous  boats  are  moored; 
and  the  bright  green  sward  about  this  pretty,  rustic  retreat, 
contrasts  remarkably  with  the  under-robes  of  brilliant 

*  The  public  are  greatly  indebted  to  Lord  Kenmare  and  Mr.  Herbert  for 
their  indulgent  liberality. 


KILLARNKY.  153 


scarlet,  which  are  sweeping  slowly  over  it,  while,  from  the 
walks  above,  gay  little  bonnets  flash  among  the  trees,  and 
the  cock-pheasants  and  other  ornithological  specimens,  now 
worn  in  the  hats  of  Englishwomen,  seem  to  rejoice,  reani- 
mate, in  their  leafy  homes. 

Here  again,  opposite  the  sublime  mountains  of  Glena, 
so  fairly  dight  from  crown  to  foot  in  their  summer  garb  of 
green,  we  awake  and  listen  to  the  echoes,  until  "  the  big 
rain  comes  dancing  to  the "  lake,  and  we  row  hastily 
homeward,  changing  places  half  way  with  the  boatmen, 
and  astonishing  them  considerably  with  an  Oxford 
"spirt." 

It  was  pleasant,  when  we  reached  the  Victoria,  and  had 
"  cleaned  ourselves  "  (as  housemaids  term  a  restoration  of 
the  toilette),  to  find  letters  from  England,  to  hear  that  the 
good  wheat  was  shorn  and  stacked,  and  the  mowers 
"in  among  the  bearded  barley."  There  was  still  a  short 
interval,  when  these  letters  were  answered,  to  elapse 
before  dinner,  and  this  I  occupied  in  perusing  the  account 
of  "the  Prince  of  Wales 's  visit  to  Killarncy"  in  April, 
1858. 

Now  Heaven  preserve  our  dear  young  Prince  from  that 
excessive  loyalty,  which  loves  to  "  chronicle  small  beer." 


154  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

The  historian  told  how  "  alighting  from  his  vehicle,  the 
Prince,  who  seems  passionately  fond  of  walking,  proceeded 
on  foot  for  a  mile  or  two,  with  gun  in  hand,  firing  from 
time  to  time  at  bird,  leaf,  or  fissure  in  the  rock,  in  the 
exuberance  of  those  animal  spirits,  which  belong  to  his  time 
of  life"  but  which  must  be  somewhat  perilous  to  those  of 
his  Royal  Mother's  liege  subjects,  who  may  be  wandering 
in  the  immediate  vicinity.  Then  we  are  informed,  how 
that,  "  His  Royal  Highness  and  party  drove  on  to  the  Vic- 
toria Hotel,  with  rather  keen  appetites  ;"  how  they  visited 
"  the  tomb  of  O'  Sullivan,  and  inspected  it  with  much 
gravity  and  demeanour,"  as  though  to  ordinary  minds 
there  was  something  in  sepulchres  irresistibly  comic;  how 
"having  drunk  in  all  the  glories  of  this  wondrous  scene" 
(the  view  of  Mangerton),  "the  Prince  amused  himself  for 
some  time  in  rolling  large  stones  into  the  Devils  Punch 
Bowl"  for  the  satisfaction,  doubtless,  of  hearing  them  "go 
flop;"  how  when  he  went  to  Church  on  Sunday,  "the 
Venerable  Archdeacon  read  prayers,  and  seemed,  as  it  were, 
reinvigorated  by  his  presence,"  which  suggests  the  idea  of  a 
subsequent  jig  with  the  clerk  in  the  vestry,  or  of  an  Irish 
chassez  down  the  centre  aisle  ;  and  how,  to  make  a  final 
extract,  Mr.  Carroll,  the  tailor,  presented  His  Royal 


KILLARXEY. 


'55 


Highness  with  "  a  whole  suit  of  Irish  tweed,  admirably 
calculated  for  mountain  excursions,  and  with  the  texture 
of  which,  as  well  as  the  fit, — which  Mr.  Carroll's  eye  hit 
off  to  a  nicety — does  this  mean  that  Mr.  C.  "tc\pk  a 

• 

shot"  at  the  royal  dimensions?  —  the  Prince  was  much 
pleased!' 

I  remember  nothing  of  the  table  d'hote  that  evening, 
except  that  a  Cambridge  man,  who  sat  next  to  me, 
remarked  of  some  miserable  carving  hard  by,  that  "the 
gentleman  seemed  well  up  in  Comic  Sections ; "  and  that  a 
boy  of  seventeen,  with  a  violent  shooting-coat,  and  a  few 
red  bristles  in  the  vicinity  of  his  mouth,  officiating  as 
"Vice,"  and  looking  it,  mumbled  three  hurried  words 
as  grace  after  meat,  in  the  presence  of  four  English  clergy- 
men, and  two  Roman  catholic  priests. 


'56 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN'    IRELAND. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


KILLARNEY. 

APPY  and  expectant, 
as  two  young  crick- 
eters, who,  having 
made  "  no  end  of  a 
score"  in  their  first 
innings,  go  forth  a- 
gain  to  the  wicket, 
we  started  next 
morning  in  the  cur- 
rus  militarins,  or 
Car  of  Miles,  for  an- 
other joyous  day  at  Killarney.  Stopping  at  the  entrance  of 
the  town,  we  went  into  the  Cathedral  (R.C.),  a  very  hand- 
some edifice  of  beautiful  proportions,  in  the  severe,  Early- 
English  style.  The  carving  in  stone  over  the  high  altar,  in 
the  Chapel  of  the  Sacrament,  and  especially  in  the  exquisite 
symmetry  of  the  figures  in  the  arches  of  the  doorways,  is 


KILLAKNEV. 


'57 


exceedingly  chaste  and  clear,  and  some  Connamara  marble 
about  one  of  the  lesser  altars  has  a  very  pleasing  effect. 
Not  so  the  numerous  confessionals,  which,  with  their  new 
wood  and  bright  drapery,  are  somewhat  suggestive  of 
wardrobes,  and  detract,  as  novelties  always  do,  from  the 
ecclesiastical  aspect  of  the  interior. 

Hard  by,  upon  the  hill,  stands  the  spacious  Asylum  for 
the  Insane,  sadly  reminding  us  of  poor  Pugir>,  who 
designed  the  Cathedral ;  and,  less  painfully,  of  Swift's  last 
act  of  penitent  charity,  the  bequest  of  £12,000,  nearly  all 
he  had  to  bequeath,  for  the  erection  of  a  similar  institution. 

Egaris  Bog-oak  and  Arbutus  warehouse  well  deserves  a 
visit.  Here  you  learn  from  a  ledger,  opening,  as  ledgers 
will,  at  a  brilliant  galaxy  of  noble  names,  which  makes  a 
commoner's  eyes  wink,  how  the  Right  Honourable  the 
Earl  of  Cash  bought  an  elaborate  table  for  my  Lady's 
boudoir,  and  how  Rear-Admiral  Sir  Bowline  Bluff  made 
purchase  of  a  Backgammon  board,  marvellously  inlaid, 
over  which  I  venture  to  surmise,  he  has  ere  this  discoursed 
in  stormy  language,  when  the  gout  and  the  dice  have  been 
against  him.  Let  us  tread,  softly  at  a  distance,  in  these 
illustrious  footprints,  and  buy  our  meek  memorials  of  Kil- 
larney. 


158  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Hence  onward  to  the  Tore  Cascade,  descending  its  silver 
staircase  amid  green  trees  and  graceful  ferns,  —  the  latter 
including,  as  we  were  told,  the  rare  TricJiomanes  speciosum. 
Here  there  is  a  lovely  landscape  of  the  Middle  and  Lower 
Lakes,  and  there  were  seats  wherefrom  to  enjoy  it,  until 
those  despicable  snobs,  who  had  mutilated  the  trees  in 
Rohnaines  Island,  threw  them  (sweet  gentlemen  ! )  down 
the  waterfall.  And  its  O  for  a  tcte-a-tete  with  the  princi- 
pal performer,  in  the  unbroken  seclusion  of  a  twenty-four 
foot  ring  ! 

But  we  must  think  more  wisely, -as  we  approach  the 
solemn  ruins  of  Mucross,  than  of  punching  our  fellow- 
creatures'  heads,  though  even  here,  upon  the  very  tombs, 
the  miscreants  have  been  at  work, — disporting  themselves, 
like  filthy  ghouls  and  vampires  —  and  scrabbling  upon  the 
stones,  as  madmen  will. 

So  much  remains,  both  of  Church  and  Abbey,  that 
imagination  readily  supplies  what  is  gone.  Here  in  the 
Choir,  where  that  ill-tempered  looking  tourist  is  reprimand- 
ing his  wife  for  giving  a  beggar  twopence,  the  brothers  of 
St.  Francis  of  Assisi  were  wont  to  sing  holy  psalms ;  and 
there  in  the  Cloisters,  where  those  two  gaily-dressed 
French  girls  are  admiring  the  gigantic  yew-tree,  and  won- 


MUCROSS    ABBEY.  159 


dering  what  has  become  of  " ce  chcr  Jules"  (whom  I 
apprehend  to  be  a  lover,  but  who  comes  round  the  corner, 
a  poodle,  dreadful  to  contemplate !)  there 

"  Ever  musing  melancholy  dwelt," 

and  there  paced  the  pale  Franciscan,  in  the  sombre  habit 
of  his  order,  and  girded  with  his  hempen-cord.  Laugh  on, 
sweet  Stephanie,  joyous  Josephine  (I  heard  their  names 
from  Mamma  in  search) ;  but  be  not  cruel  with  your 
charms,  for  Love,  unloved,  can  still  change  men  to  monks, 
forlorn  and  wretched,  though  in  crowded  streets,  as  he,  of 
whom  Percy  sang : 

"  Within  these  holy  cloysters  long 

He  languisht,  and  he  dyed 
Lamenting  of  a  lady's  love, 
And  'playning  of  her  pride." 

There  are  some  beautiful  ferns  among  and  about  these 
ruins,  but  being  a  very  poor  Polypodian,  or  Scolopendrian 
(or  whatever  may  be  the  scientific  title  of  a  Fernist),  I 
only  recognised  the  Hart's-tongue, — with  its  fructification 
arranged  like  a  miniature  plan  of  ships  in  order  of  battle, 

and  of  this  I  gathered  some  very  fine  fronds,  and  put 

them  in  my  hat,  as  will  appear  hereafter. 

Passing  through  Mr.  Herbert's  beautiful  demesne,  by 


160  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


his  pleasant  home  (note  the  St.  John's-wort  by  the  way- 
side), his  offices,  and  yards,  wherein  the  newest  agricultural 
implements  cause  one  to  sigh  more  than  ever  for  land- 
lords, resident  and  liberal  as  he, — by  the  copper-mine,  rich 
and  productive  until  the  envious  waters  interfered,  we  reach 
the  Middle  Lake,  and  our  boat,  waiting  for  us,  thereupon. 

Tourists,  who  have  written  about  the  Irish  Lakes  have 
made  but  little  mention  of  this  Middle,  Mucross,  or  Tore 
Lake.  Like  the  youngest  of  three  fair  sisters,  she  is  kept 
in  the  background  by  their  proximity  and  prior  claims, 
being,  moreover,  an  unobtrusive,  gentle  beauty,  of  a  sub- 
dued and  retiring  air,  not  demanding  the  admiration  she 
deserves.  But  were  there  such  a  scene  of  tranquil  loveli- 
ness six  miles  from  any  of  our  great  manufacturing  towns,  it 
would  be  a  refreshment,  and  a  blessing  evermore,  to  thou- 
sands of  our  weary  artisans,  just  as  "  the  Pool,"  by  Sutton 
Coldfield,  (one  of  the  prettiest  spots  in  England)  is  the 
holiday  resort  and  resting-place  of  the  working  men  of 
Birmingham. 

Leaving  this  sweet  seclusion,  and  rowing  under  the 
picturesque  bridge  which  connects  the  islands  of  Dinis/t 
and  Brickeen,  we  come  once  more  into  the  bay  of  Glena, 
and  the  "cottage  near  a  wood."  Here,  climbing  the  hill, 


THE    LOWER    LAKE.  l6l 


and  choosing  a  position  which  commanded  a  most  delight- 
ful view,  we  enjoyed  the  sandwich  and  scene.  Descend- 
ing, we  were  horrified  to  hear  that  "  whetstone  of  the 
teeth,"  the  bagpipes,  droning  away  close  to  our  boat, 
and  abominable  to  both  of  us  as  a  dialogue  between  con- 
nubial cats,  or  a  class  of  schoolboys  pointing  slate  pen- 
cils. But  "  Ars  longa"  art  is  long-headed;  and  so  we 
tossed  up  which  of  us,  preceding  the  other,  should  go 
down,  pay  the  piper,  and  keep  him  in  conversation  until 
his  friend  had  reached  the  boat.  This  service  of  con- 
spicuous gallantry  fell  to  me,  and  if  ever  man  deserved 
the  Victoria  Cross,  I  won  it  there  and  then. 

They  say,  but  I  don't  believe  it,  that  the  red-deer,  who 
inhabit  these  mountains,  admire  this  infernal  machine; 
and,  in  proof  thereof,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wright,  in  Guide 
to  Killarney,  quotes  the  following  anecdote  from  Play- 
ford's  History  of  Music  : — 

"  As  I  travelled  some  years  near  Royston,  I  met  a  herd 
of  stags,  about  twenty,  on  the  road,  following  a  bagpipe 
and  violin,  which  when  the  music  played  they  went  for- 
ward, when  it  ceased  they  all  stood  still,  and  in  this  manner 
they  were  brought  out  of  Yorkshire  to  Hampton  Court." 

Next  we  rowed  to  0' Sullivan's  Cascade,  foaming  down 


162  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

its  triple  falls ;  and  here  finding  some  shamrock,  and  feel- 
ing very  Irish,  we  liberally  adorned  our  coats  and  hats 
with  it.  To  our  surprise  and  disappointment,  upon  our 
return,  the  boatman  appeared  to  be  perfectly  indifferent  to 
this  enthusiastic  display  of  their  national  emblem ;  and  it 
subsequently  transpired,  to  our  very  severe  discomfort,  that 
we  had  ornamented  our  persons  with  some  vulgar  trefoil 
which  did  not  resemble  the  shamrock  at  all,  at  all.*  It 
vexed  one's  vanity,  to  have  performed  unconsciously  both 
a  Guy  and  a  Jack-in-the-Green ;  and  the  effect  produced 
reminded  me  of  the  answer  of  a  Nottinghamshire  labourer, 
in  reply  to  my  inquiries  concerning  his  friend,  "  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  Sir,  Bill's  been  and  married  his  mestur,  and 
it's  gloppened  him  a  goodish  bit  f" 

Leaving  to  our  right  the  numerous  islets  of  the  Lower  Lake 
(there  are  thirty-three  of  them  in  all),  and  the  ruins  of  Ross 
Castle,  once  the  home  of  the  O'Donoghues,  we  pass  by  fair 
Innisfallcn, and  reaching  our  landing-place,  separate  awhile, 
Frank  starting  afresh  to  fish,  and  I  returning  to  the  inn. 
In  a  cozy  corner  of  the  coffee-room,  I  began  now  to 


*"  We  believe  it  to  be  an  ascertained  fact,  that  the  shamrock  of  the  old  Irish 
was  not  a  trefoil  at  all,  but  the  wood-sorrel,  Oxalis  acetosella."  —  Gardener*,' 
Chronicle,  yth  August,  1858. 


KII.LARNEY. 


'63 


transcribe  a  little  poem  of  a  sentimental  kind,  which  had 
suggested  itself  to  my  thoughts  during  our  excursion. 
Looking  up  from  time  to  time,  as  Poets  (like  poultry)  will, 
when  drinking  at  the  Pierian  stream,  I  was  much  offended 
to  see  several  persons  in  different  parts  of  the  room,  evi- 
dently amusing  themselves  at  my  expense.  A  joke  loses 
its  festive  character,  when  it  falls  upon  one's  own  head, 
especially  when  that  head  is  profusely  crowned,  as  I  soon 
discovered  mine  to  be,  with  fronds  of  the  Hart's-tongue 
Fern, —  collected  at  Mucross,  but  entirely  forgotten,  until, 
bending  lower  than  usual,  I  saw — 

"  frondes  volitate  caducas." 

I  am  afraid  that  I  did  not  wear  my  chaplet  so  gracefully  as 
Dante  his,  in  that  beautiful  picture  by  Scheffer:  on  the 
contrary,  I  felt  quite  as  ill  at  ease  and  uncomfortable  as  an 
Oxford  friend,  who,  having  won  a  steeple-chase  last  winter 
in  France,  was  sent  for  by  the  Prefet  of  the  place,  and 
crowned  with  a  laurel  wreath  !  What  a  pleasing  harmony 
there  must  have  been  between  his  Bays  and  his  dirty  Boots  ! 
Completing  my  manuscript,  and  leaving  it  in  our  joint- 
stock  writing-case,  I  took  a  walk  to  the  Post  Office  at  AY/- 
larney  ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  it  was  at  all  gentlemanly 
in  Francis  to  tamper  with  my  poetry,  on  his  return  from 


164  A    LITTLE    TOUR   IN    IRELAND. 

fishing;   erasing  the  alternate  lines,  and  substituting  rub- 
bish of  his  own,  as  follows  : — 

KILLARNEY. 

When  the  pale  morn  streaks 
My  Macgillicuddy's  *  cheeks, 
And  the  day- god  shoots 
Through  the  shutters,  opened  by  Boots  ; 
And  from  sweet  Innisfallen, — 
Jolly  place  to  walk  with  gal  in  ! 
Which  so  lovely,  and  so  lone,  is, — 
Why,  it  ain't,  if  s  full  of  conies,\ 
Hark !  a  voice  comes  o'er  the  wave, 
Now,  old  Buffer,  up  and  shave  ! 
As  I  watch  the  Heron's  wing, — 
More  fool  you,  yon''  II  cut  your  chin  ! 
Sailing  stately,  slowly  flapping, — 
Better  "work  away  ivith  Mappin  ! 
Ah,  sweet  morning's  face  is  fair,  — 
Not  so  yours,  soaped  like  that  ere  ! 
And  she  dons  her  summer  garment, — 
Get  on  yours,  you  lazy  varmint ! 
Jubilant  in  alf  her  graces, 
As  if  going  to  Hampton  races, 
Smiling,  proud  in  all  her  riches,  — 

Where's  that  fellow  put  my ? 

This  good  news  to  man  narrating 

"  Plaze,  your  'onour,  breakfast's  waiting." 
&c.  &c.  &c. 

*  He  persisted  in  addressing  me  by  this  extraordinary  appellative  throughout 
our  sojourn  at  Killarney. 

t  Or  if  it  isn't,  "  Rabbit  Island,"  which  is  close  to.  ought  to  be.  See  remarks 
by  the  Aurora  Borealis.  in  the  Christmas  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Keview  ;  Mrs. 
Hemans,  Racing  Calendar,  vol.  408;  and  Bendigo,  passim. — FRANK  C. 


KII.I.ARXEY.  165 

But  Frank  is  one  of  those  men,  with  whom  it  is  impossible 
to  be  angry ;  and  if  he  were  standing  in  his  thickest  shoot- 
ing-boots, on  your  most  susceptible  corn,  he  would  smile 
in  your  face  with  such  exceeding  suavity,  that  you  would 
almost  consider  the  proceeding  funny.  So  we  sat  down  to 
discuss,  in  affectionate  unison,  the  delicious  trout  which  he 
had  caught  (how  could  I  eat  his  fish  and  be  sulky?),  ampli- 
fying our  ordinary  allowance  of  sherry,  in  honour  of  the 
Naiads  and  Dryads  in  general,  and  of  the  Naiads,  who 
look  after  the  trout,  in  particular. 

These  libations,  assisted  by  potheen  and  pipe,  made  us 
very  cheery  in  the  smoke-room.  Frank  declared  that  I 
talked  for  two  hours  about  Absenteeism  to  a  Lincolnshire 
farmer,  who  was  fast  asleep ;  and  I  certainly  heard  him  dis- 
coursing, with  a  mimetic  brogue,  upon  the  state  of  Ireland, 
as  though  he  had  lived  in  the  country  all  his  life.  So,  de- 
sirous to  keep  ourselves  "  within  the  limits  of  becoming 
mirth,"  and  not  to  induce  that  metaphysical  state,  "  qnand 
celui  qui  parle  nentend  rien,  et  celui  qiiecoitte  nentend 
plus"  we  judiciously  retired  to  roost. 

"That  very  night,  ere  gentle  sleep,"  with  "slumber's 
chain  had  bound  me,"  and  "  as  I  lay  a  thinking,"  I  com- 
posed a  little  drama,  for  the  benefit  of  Frank ;  and,  rising 


1 66  A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


early  next  morning,  brought  out  upon  the  stage,  or  rather 
upon  the  passage, — 

THE    BOOTS   AT   THE    EAGLE. 

AN    EXTRAVAGANZA    IN   TWO   ACTS. 


Dramatis  Persona. 
FRANK  AND  THE  BOOTS. 


ACT  I. 

The  scene,  like  the  hero,  is  laid  in  bed.  The  room  is  strewed  with 
wearing  apparel  in  great  disorder.  The  appearance  of  the 
candle  suggests  the  probability  of  its  having  been  extinguished 
by  a  blow  from  a  clothes-brush.  Soft  music  from  the  Som- 
nambula,  which  changes  to  "  Who's  dat  knocking  at  the 
door?" 

Frank,  (awaking)  Who's  there  ? 

Boots.  Sure,  your  'onour,  it's  Boots. 

Frank.  Well,  what  do  you  want  ? 

Boots.  Plaze,  yer  'onour,  man's  brought  yer  a  hagle. 

Frank.  Who  sent  him  ?     How  much  does  he  want  for  it  ? 

Boots.  Miles,  yer  'onour,  Miles  the  guide.  The  man  '11  take 
tin  shillings,  yer  'onour ;  and  he's  an  illigant  hagle,  with  a  power 
o'  bake. 

Frank.  Tell  him  I'll  have  it,  and  let  him  wait  till  1  come 
down. 


"THE    BOOTS    AT   THE    EAGLE.'  167 

Boots.     I  will,  yer  'onour. 

Curtain 

(Pulled  aside  by  FRANK,  to  facilitate  conversation) 
Falls. 

Inten'al  of  half-an-hour,  during  u  Inch  I  go  to  bed  in  high 
spirits,  and  FRANK  dreams  that  the  Zoological  Society  have  offered 
him  a  hundred  jor  his  new  purchase. 


ACT  II. 
Scene,  as  before. 

Frank,  (aroused  by  renewed  knocking)  Now  then !  what  the 
deuce  is  up  ? 

Boots.  There's  another  man,  yer  'onour,  wants  to  sell  you  a 
hagle. 

Frank.  Oh,  hang  it !  Tell  him  I've  got  one,  and  ask  the 
gentleman  in  Number  Twenty,  whether  he  would  like  to  buy  it. 

Boots.     I  will,  yer  'onour. 

*  *  •  •  • 

Boots.  (Returning  after  a  putative  interview  with  No.  20.) 
Plaze,  yer  'onour,  the  gintleman's  bin  and  bought  him,  and  I  was 
to  give  his  best  love  to  yer  'onour,  and  his  hagle's  waiting  in  the 
passage,  to  fight  yer  'onour's  hagle  for  a  new  hat. 

During  this  latter  sentence,  my  voice,  I  regret  to  say, 
went  back  to  its  ordinary  tone ;  Frank  was  out  of  bed  in  an 


1 68  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

instant;  and  I  had  only  just  time  to  regain  No.  20,  when  a 
heavy  boot  went  by  with  great  velocity,  falling,  as  Frank 
afterwards  told  me,  at  the  feet  of  an  astonished  elderly 
clergyman,  who,  coming  out  of  his  room  at  that  instant, 
and  seeing  my  friend  in  his  cutty-sark,  evidently  inferred 
an  escape  from  the  asylum,  and  bolted  immediately,  self 
and  door. 

But  sure  enough,  when  we  came  down  to  breakfast, 
there  was  a  veritable  eagle  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  wild 
with  anger,  in  an  iron  cage,  and  the  property  of  a  small 
tourist,  who  was  starting  for  Connamara  with  this  delectable 
companion,  a  large  Arbutus  table,  ditto  case  of  Killarney 
ferns,  and  a  hillock  of  general  luggage.  With  these  impedi- 
menta, his  estates  appeared  to  be  sufficiently  incumbered, 
and  I  was  not  surprised  that  he  declined  to  purchase  a 
shillelagh,*  with  a  head  about  the  size  of  his  own,  although 
solemnly  assured  that  "  it  had  been  cut  in  the  dark  moon  " 
—  an  inestimable  advantage  doubtless,  though  to  me  the 
meaning  of  the  sentence  is  as  obscure  as  the  luminary  in 
question. 

Alas,  alas !  our  own  luggage  is  now  brought  down,  and 

*  Shillelagh  is,  or  was,  a  famous  wood  in  Wicklow,  from  which  the  timber  was 
brought  for  the  roof  of  Westminster  Hall. 


K.ILLARNEV    CHAk.,fc.s 


169 


we  are  awaiting  our  bill  somewhat  curiously,  after  the  re- 
cent revival  in  the  Times*  of  complaints,  commenced  by 
Arthur  Young  in  1776,  and  repeated  by  Mr.  Wright  in 
1822,  on  the  subject  of  Killarney  charges.  But  we  both 
spoke  in  favor  of  the  bill,  and  it  was  carried  through  the 
house  ( v  i  a 
the  lobby,  to 
the  bar)  with- 
out any  divis- 
ion, except 
that  of  the 
sum  total  be- 
tween Frank 
and  myself. 
You  cannot 
have  guides, 
and  horses, 
and  boats, 
and  buglers 

(especially  where  the  demand  is  temporary  and  irregular), 
without  paying  highly  for  them;  but  these  expenses  are 
fairly  stated  before  they  are  incurred,  and  decrease  materi- 

*  In  the  autumn  of  1858. 


170  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

ally  if  you  prolong  your  stay  (as  we  would  fain  have  done), 
and  begin  to  find  your  own  amusement  afoot,  or  in  a  boat. 
Farewell,  Killarney  ! — How  often,  far  away  from  thy 
scenes  of  beauty,  have  I,  leaning  back  with  closed  eyes, 
beheld  thee,  pictured  by  memory,  and  engraved  by  fond 
imagination  !  How  often  have  I  essayed  to  realise  thee  in 
the  subtle  semblances  of  Art !  How  often  in  the  clouds  of 
sunset  (and  here  most  happily),  have  I  rejoiced  to  trace  thy 
tranquil  waters  and  thy  tree-clad  hills  !  — and  still,  as  some 
lover,  clasping  with  a  sigh  the  likeness  of  his  darling, 
yearns  for  her  living  self,  so  long  I  for  that  happy  hour 
when  I  shall  return  to  thee,  gladly,  as  thine  eagles  soaring 
homeward,  and  see  thee  face  to  face. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


FROM    KILLARNEY    TO    GLENGARRIFF. 

THE  omnibus  took  us  to  the  town  of  Killarney,  and 
there  we  mounted  the  Glengarriff  Car.  People  do  not 
look  particularly  wise  when  seated  in  a  public  street,  upon 
a  vehicle  to  which  no  horses  are  attached;  but  we  were 


TO    GLENGARR1FF. 


171 


anxious  to  secure  our  places  on  "the  Lake  side,"  and  being 
surrounded  by  the  pretty  dealers  in  arbutus-ware  (there 
were  two,  who,  I  am  convinced,  could  have  persuaded  St. 
Senanus  to  buy  a  set  of  blue-bottle  studs  in  bog-oak),  we 
did  not  feel  at  all  uncomfortable.  But  even  Irish  cars  must 
fulfill  their  mission ;  and  we  started  at  last,  bristling  with 
paper  knives. 

Halting  awhile  to  take  up  passengers  at  the  Mucross 
Hotel,  we  were  again  besieged  by  another  bevy  of  these 
fancy  timber  merchants ;  and  here  a  little  scene  occurred, 
which,  however  trivial  it  may  appear  from  my  feeble  ac- 
count of  it,  was  very  touching  in  reality.  A  woman,  who 
had  been,  you  could  see,  as  pretty  in  her  prime  as  the 
prettiest  of  her  younger  companions,  but  whose  beauty 
was  fast  fading  away,  came  and  offered  her  basket  to  a 
coarse  specimen  of  the  genus  "  Gent,"  who  was  seated  on 
our  side  of  the  car,  and  who,  very  abruptly,  and  thought- 
lessly I  dare  say, — 

"  But  evil  is  wrought  for  want  of  thought, 
As  well  as  want  of  heart," 

repulsed  her,  saying,  "  that  he  should  buy  from  the  young 
uns  if  he  bought  at  all."  I  saw  a  look  of  intense  pain  pass 
over  her  face,  as  though  she  were  hurt  at  heart ;  and,  al- 


172  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


though  the  others  made  way  for  her,  with  sweet  sisterly 
kindness,  when  Frank  called  her  to  him,  and  though  he 
bought  her  most  elaborate  bracelets,  and  I  a  box  of  cun- 
ning workmanship,  designed,  I  believe,  for  gloves,  but  sub- 
sequently used  by  a  small  niece  of  mine  as  a  bed  for  her 
youngest  doll,  the  sliding  lid  drawn  up  to  the  sleeper's  chin, 
forming  a  counterpane  of  unrivalled  splendour;  although, 
I  say,  we  did  all  in  our  power  to  comfort,  the  storm-clouds, 
when  we  left,  hung  heavily  over  her,  and  the  first  rain- 
drops glistened  in  her  pale  blue  eyes. 

Take  heed,  ye  maidens  beautiful  (I  feel  a  little  satur- 
nine this  morning,  and  shall  put  no  more  lemon  in,  my 
punch,  whatever  Francis  may  say),  be  ye  Belles  of  the  Park 
or  the  Pattern,  to  this  extremity  ye  must  come  at  last ! 
You,  Lady  Constance  Plantagenet,  who  promised  to  waltz 
with  me  at  the  County  Ball,  and  pretended  to  have  for- 
gotten (though  it  was  written  upon  those  gem-studded 
tablets),  when  Lord  Hanwell  (he  has  at  least  three  slates 
off  his  roof,  and  always  went,  when  in  the  Artillery,  by  the 
sobriquet  of  "Lincoln  and  Bennett,"  being  notoriously  as 
mad  as  two  hatters),  was  pleased  to  invite  you  to  the 
dance !  And  you,  Susan  Holmes,  beauty  of  our  village, 
looking  coldly  now  at  Will  Strong,  the  keeper,  the  hardest 


A   SERMON    FOR   PRETTY   GIRLS.  173 

hitter  in  "our  Eleven,"  and  the  handsomest  fellow  in  the 
parish,  because  the  young  squire's  friend,  with  the  big 
moustache  (Will  wanted  to  know  whether  he  came  from 
Skye],  made  a  fool  of  you  at  the  Servant's  Ball!  You, 
Lady  Constance,  ignoring  your  engagements,  and  you, 
Susan  Holmes,  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  your  papa  is  only 
a  blacksmith ;  be  assured,  both  of  you,  that  the  light  will 
fade  from  those  flashing  eyes,  and  the  roses  will  be  blanched 
on  those  glowing  cheeks,  and  that  — 

"Violets  pluckt,  the  sweetest  showers 
Will  ne'er  make  grow  again." 

What  moral  deduction  can  I  draw  but  this: — Marry, 
marry,  ye  damsels  beautiful,  the  men  whom  ye  love  at 
heart ;  and  so  perpetuate  your  lovliness,  and  live  again  in 
your  daughters  ! 

The  cold  salmon,  on  which  we  lunched  at  Kenmari , 
was  so  especially  delicious,  that  when  I  turned  to  Frank, 
an  hour  afterwards,  on  the  car,  and  asked  him  what  o'clock 
it  was,  not  perceiving  that  he  was  asleep,  he  murmured 
something  about  "  a  slice  of  the  thin ;"  and  the  tourist  in 
Ireland  finds  this  fish  so  good  and  abundant,  that  he 
almost  begins  to  apprehend  "  a  favourable  eruption  "  of 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


scales,  and  feels  disposed  to  snap  at  the  larger  flies  which 

come  within  the  pre- 
hensiveness  of  his  Cen- 
tal powers. 

The  little  town  of 
Kenmare  is  very  pleas- 
antly and  healthfully 
placed.  Mr.  Frazer 
says  that  the  bay,  by 
:r-  which  it  stands,  is  the 
most  beautiful  in  all 
Ireland,  but  we  did 
not  see  enough  of  it  to  corroborate  this  grand  eulo- 
gium.  With  the  exception  of  the  handsome  Suspension 
Bridge,  neat  Church,  and  National  Schools,  the  buildings 
are  mean  and  miserable.  To  judge  from  the  size  of  the 
Post- Office  and  "Bridewell"  there  is  very  little  correspond- 
ence or  crime.  At  the  broken  windows  of  "  the  Female 
Industrial  School,"  we  saw  two  young  girls,  of  such  indus- 
trious habits,  that  they  had  not  had  time  to  wash  them- 
selves. "  The  Dispensary"  I  presume  had  cured  everybody, 
for  we  saw  no  signs  of  surgeon,  surgery  or  patients, —  only 
a  dingy  old  hen  in  the  passage,  who,  probably,  had  over- 


KENMARR. 


layed  herself,  or  had  contracted  that  prevailing  malady, 
"  the  Gapes,"  the  name  whereof  makes  one  yawn  when 
writing  it.  Undoubtedly,  the  edifice  which  pleased  us  the 
most,  was  a  narrow,  tumble-down  hut  of  two  small  stories, 
and  one  of  these  securely  shuttered,  which  announced  itself 
to  the  world  as  "  Michael  Brenans  Tea  and  Coffee  Rooms, 
with  Lodging  and  Stabling." 

Leaving  Kenmare  (and  is  not  that  a  sweet  little  cot- 
tage, on  the  right  as  you  rise  the  hill,  with  the  hydrangea 
glowing  amid  the  dark  evergreens,  like  hope  in  seasons  of 
sorrow  ?),  we  met  some  scores  of  the  peasantry,  grave  and 
decorous,  on  their  way,  the  driver  told  us,  to  a  funeral. 
Whence  did  they  come  ?  Between  Kenmare  and  Glcn- 
garriff  we  saw  very  few  habitations,  yet  troops  of  children 
came  running  after  the  car  as  heretofore,  amply  demon- 
strating that  the  Irish  Paterfamilias  knows  more  of  Addi- 
tion and  Multiplication  than  of  the  Frenchman's  Rule-of- 
Three  ("two  boys  and  a  girl  are  a  family  for  a  king"), 
and  ever  finds  himself  in  a  satisfactory  position  to  converse 
with  his  enemies  in  the  gate.  The  stern  Lycurgus,  who, 
according  to  Plutarch,  was  so  very  severe  upon  the  unmar- 
ried Spartans,  that  he  made  them  walk  in  procession,  more 
scantily  draped  than  their  statues,  though  the  promenade 


i76 


A    LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


took  place  in  winter,  and  compelled  them  to  sing  songs  de- 
risive of  celi- 

..  ,     «. 

bacy,  chaffing 

r —  themselves  to 
Gi^;  music,  as  they 
walked  along, 
—  w  o  u  1  d  be 
gratified  in- 
deed, if  he 
could  revisit 
the  earth,  and 
see  what  Ire- 
land is  doing, 
with  a  grand 
fecundity,  for 
the  Census  of 
1861. 

The  vestments  of  these  juveniles  again  attracted  our 
notice,  reminding  us  — 

"Of  love,  that  never  found  its  earthly  close" 
i 

for   some   of    them    must    have   been    about    as   cool    as 
Cupid,    and    suggesting   that    impatience,  with   regard    to 


IRISH    DRESS. 


'77 


apparel,  which  characterised  of  old  even  the  Kings  of 
Ireland. 

Henry  Castide,  selected  on  account  of  his  knowledge 
of  the  language  to  teach  and  Anglicise  four  Irish  Kings, 
who  had  sworn  allegiance  to  Richard,  relates  in  a  conver- 
sation with  Froissart,  that  these  royal  personages  "  had 
another  custom,  which  I  knew  to  be  common  in  this  coun- 
try, which  was  the  not  wearing  breeches.  I  had,  in  conse- 
quence, plenty  of  breeches  made  of  linen  and  cloth,  which 
I  gave  to  the  Kings  and  their  attendants,  and  accustomed 
them  to  wear  them.  I  took  away  many  rude  articles 
as  well  in  their  dress  as  other  things,  and  had  great 
difficulty  at  the  first  to  induce  them  to  wear  robes  of 
silken-cloth,  trimmed  with  squirrel-skin,  or  minever,  for 
the  Kings  only  wrapped  themselves  up  in  an  Irish 
cloak."* 

This  cloak,  no  doubt,  very  much  resembled  the  gar- 
ment worn  by  that  Irish  chieftain,  of  whom  Sir  Walter 
Scoff,  when  in  Ireland,  related  an  anecdote,  very  highly- 
seasoned,  to  the  Squireen,  and  who,  during  one  of  the  re- 
bellions against  Queen  Elizabeth,  was  honoured  by  a  visit 
from  a  French  Envoy.  "  This  comforter  of  the  rebels  was 

*  Froissart's  Chronicles,  book  iv..  chop.  64. 

12 


178  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

a  Bishop,  and  his  union  of  civil  and  religious  dignity  se- 
cured for  him  all  possible  respect  and  attention.  The 
Chief,  receiving  him  in  state,  was  clad  in  a  yellow  mantle 
('to  wit,  a  dirty  blanket,'  interposes  the  Squireen),  but  this 
he  dropt  in  the  interior,  and  sat  upon  it,  mother-naked,  in 
the  midst  of  his  family  and  guests  by  the  fire."  *  After 
this  aristocratic  pattern  was  fashioned,  I  suppose,  the  man- 
tle of  Thady  Quirk,  of  which  he  tells  us  (in  "  Castle  Rack- 
rent1'},  "it  holds  on  by  a  single  button  round  my  throat, 
cloak  fashion,"  so  that  Thady  could  as  promptly  prepare 
himself  for  repose,  as  that  heroine  of  whom  the  poet 
sings,— 

"  One  single  pin  at  night  let  loose 
The  robes  which  veiled  her  beauty. " 

There  is  magnificent  mountain  scenery,  naked  as  the 
chieftain,  but  much  more  interesting,  between  Kemnare 
and  Glengarriff,  so  wild  and  stern,  and  desolate  exceed- 
ingly, a  solitude  so  complete  and  drear,  that,  were  Prome- 
theus bound  upon  these  craggy  rocks,  he  would  be  relieved 
to  see  the  cruel  vulture  hungrily  stooping  for  his  foie-gras. 
Honour  and  thanks  to  the  genius  which  designed,  and  to 

Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  Hi.,  chap.  xv. 


IRISH    ROADS. 


'79 


the  patient  energy 
which  perfected,  a 
way  over  these  rug- 
ged Alps.  Ireland 
must  acknowledge 
her  obligation  to 
the  stranger,  for  a 
Scotchman,  Nimmo, 
made  her  most  dif- 
ficult roads,  and  an 
Italian,  Bianconi, 
carries  us  over  \ 
them.  Reaching  the 
summit,  we  pass 
through  a  tunnel, 
hewn  in  the  solid 
rock  (why  do  we  use 
this  adjective  al-  | 
ways,  as  though  j 
rocks  were  ordinar- 
ily in  a  state  of  fu- 
sion ?),  and  leave 
county  Kerry  for 
Cork. 


180  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


GLENGARRIFF. 

GRADUATES  and  undergraduates  (O  my  brothers,  how 
gladly  shall  I  meet  you  once  again,  when  the  long  vacation 
is  past !),  did  you  ever  dine,  as  I  have  dined,  with  an 
elderly  Don,  severe  in  deportment  and  of  boundless  lore, 
who  happened  to  be  at  once  the  author  of  a  great  treatise 
on  "  the  Verbs  in  /«,"  and  (strange  antithesis !)  of  a  pretty 
daughter  ?  If  so,  you  will  remember  that  hour  of  solemn 
converse,  before  the  coffee  was  announced,  when  the  grave 
Professor,  broad  of  brow,  took  you,  as  it  were,  by  the  hand 
up  the  solemn  heights  of  Olympus,  and  showed  to  you, 
awfully  admiring,  the  grand  sublimities  of  Longimis,  the 
sombre  valleys  of  Parnassus,  and  Philosophy's  everlasting 
hills.  And  memory  will  suggest  to  you,  more  happily, 
more  vividly,  how,  summoned  by  the  butler,  you  at  length 
came  down  from  those  amazing  steeps,  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room, found  the  pretty  daughter ;  and,  while  papa 
chuckled  in  the  distance,  over  a  play  of  Aristophanes,  easy 
to  his  apprehension  as  Bucks  tone  to  ours,  discoursed  to  her 


GLENGAKKIFF. 


of  the  Commemoration  Ball,  and  forgot  Minerva  in  the 
sunnier  presence  of  Aphrodite. 

And  you,  my  general  readers,  you,  who,  with  that  re- 
finement of  taste  for  which  you  are  remarkable  above  all 
other  readers,  go  to  Concerts  at  the  Hanover  Square 
Rooms  in  the  season,  and,  out  of  it,  to  dingy  County  Halls, 
whenever  the  Italians  sing, —  you,  too,  must  help  me  with 
an  analogy,  and  say, —  can  you  not  recall  how,  amid  all 
that  severe  and  stately  music,  some  plaintive  ballad,  quaint 
madrigal,  or  hearty  glee,  refreshed  your  weary  spirit,  and 
won  the  sole  encore  ?  It  was  so,  at  all  events,  when  last  I 
went  to  an  Operatic  Meeting  in  the  Halls  of  Crystal ;  and 
Alboni  sang ;  and  Guiglini  sang ;  and  of  Inis  and  Icos 
good  store  ;  and  we  beat  time,  and  "  wasn't  it  delicious  ?"  ; 
but  no  song  went  home  to  our  English  hearts,  roused  us 
from  our  lethargic  and  drear  gentility,  and  made  us  clap  our 
English  hands,  save  the  song  of  "  The  Hardy  Norsemen." 

Some  such  pleasant  refreshment,  and  cheerful  change,  it 
is,  coming  away  from  those  barren  rocks  of  Kerry,  those 
dark,  cold  lakes  (numerous,  it  is  said,  as  days  in  the  year), 
to  gaze  upon  the  sunlit  Bay  of  Bantry,  and  the  freshness 
and  the  beauty  of  green  Glengarriff !  Glengarriff,  is,  in- 
deed, 


1 82  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

"A  miniature  of  loveliness,  all  grace 
Summed  up,  and  closed  in  little." 

A  miniature  bay,  miniature  mountains,  miniature  waterfall, 
a  glen,  to  which,  as  Moore  writes  of  it,  the 

"ocean  comes, 
To  'scape  the  wild  wind's  rancour." 

Yes,  to  the  eye  all  was  peace,  but  not  so  to  the  ear,  for, 
when  we  went  in  to  dinner,  the  noise  made  by  a  couple  of 
waiters  was  something  to  exceed  belief.  One  of  them,  it 
was  evident,  had  been  suddenly  evoked  from  the  stables, 
and  had  been  garnished  with  an  enormous  white  necker- 
chief, under  the  idea  apparently  that  this  threw  a  kind  of 
glory  over  his  costume  of  corduroy,  and  effectually  hid  the 
ostler  in  the  accomplished  domestic  footman.  His  hair 
was  arranged  (with  a  curry-comb,  I  fancy),  to  imitate  a 
cockatoo,  and  were,  naturally,  jocose  about  Peveril  of  the 
Peak,  and  Ricquet  with  the  Tuft,  etc.  To  hear  him  and 
his  superior  coming  down  the  boarded  passage  with  the 
dinner,  was  like  "the  march  of  the  Cameron  men;"  and 
they  ran  against  each  other,  from  time  to  time,  with  such  a 
clattering  of  plates,  and  dish-covers,  and  knives,  and  jugs, 
and  crockery  in  general,  as  would  have  done  honour  to  the 
Druids  on  a  Walpurgis  Night. 


THE    IRISH    WAITER. 


'83 


But  the  Irish  waiter  is,  notwithstanding,  a  capital  fellow, 
good-tempered,  prompt,  collo- 
quial, large-hearted.  I  say  "large- 
hearted  "  because  he  will  under- 
take to  serve  any  conceivable 
number  of  persons,  and  "  collo- 
quial," remembering  that,  when  a 
neighbour,  at  a  table  d'hote,  mild- 
ly expressed  his  conviction,  that 
one  waiter  was  insufficient  to 
satisfy  the  emergencies  of  seven- 
teen persons,  the  individual  referred  to  immediately  ex- 
claimed from  the  other  end  of  the  apartment,  but  with 
all  good  humour  and  civility,  "  Shure,  thin,  and  every 
gin  tie  wan  will  be  having  his  fair  turn." 

Well,  I  prefer  this  scant  attendance,  with  all  its  good 
humour  and  elasticity,  to  the  solemn  dreariness  of  our 
English  waiter,  who  has  nothing  to  say  but  "  Yezzur,"  and 
knows  not  how  to  smile.  If  the  Irishman  cannot  come  to 
you,  he  will  at  all  events  recognize  your  summons,  and  fa- 
vour you  with  a  grin  on  account,  whereas  the  Englishman 
hath  an  unpleasant  habit  of  affecting  not  to  hear  you,  and 
of  rushing  off  in  a  contrary  direction. 


1 84 


A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND.' 


We  remained  a  Sunday  at  Glengarriff  (there  is  an  air 
of  rest  and  peace  about  the  place,  as  of  a  perpetual  Sab- 
bath), and  went  up  to  the  little  edifice  upon  the  hill,  half 
cottage  and  half  church.  Indeed,  the  inhabited  part  has 
the  more  ecclesiastical  aspect,  and  I  was  surprised  on  en- 
tering it,  uncovered  and  with  obeisance,  to  confront  an  old 
woman  washing  potatoes  ! 

The  clergyman,  having  duties  elsewhere,  was  somewhat 
late  for  matins,  and  it  sounded  strangely  to  be  speaking  of 
"  the  beginning  of  this  day,"  an  hour  and  a  half  after  the 
meridian.  But  that  sacred  service  is  ever  seasonable,  and 

we  were  glad,  after 
an  earnest  sermon, 

;b?\  to  drop  our  thank- 

r 

ful  alms  into  the 
Offertory  bason, 
though  it  was  but 
a  cheese-plate  of 
the  willow  pattern. 

noon,  we  climbed 
the  high  hills 
which  overlook 


FROM  GLF.NGARRIFF  TO  CORK.  185 

Glengarriff,  and,  after  losing  our  way,  and  meeting  with 
an  apparition,  which  alarmed  us  fearfully,  we  reached  the 
highest  point,  and  surveyed,  with  wonder  and  gladness,  the 
glorious  view  beneath  us. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


FROM    GLENGARRIFF   TO   CORK. 

MOUNTED  on  the  Cork  car  next  morning,  we  passed 
the  estuaries  of  Bantry  Bay,  where,  the  tide  being  out,  the 
heron  stood,  lone  and  aristocratic,  and  the  curlew  ran 
nimbly  along  the  dank  seaweed.  By  the  roadside,  the 
goats,  tied  in  pairs,  and  cruelly  hoppled,  tumbled  over  the 
embankments  as  we  passed.  We  went  by  the  picturesque 
old  ruins  of  Carriginass,  and  by  various  sights  and  scenes, 
until  we  reached  the  Pass  of  Kiemaneigh,  a  defile  through 
the  mountains,  the  appropriate  refuge  of  the  Rockites,  in 
1822,  and  an  elegant  situation  for  a  still.  Burns,  the  poet- 
ical gauger,  might  have  been  happy  here,  so  long  as, 
dreamily  wandering  among  the  heath-clad  steeps,  he  had 
confined  his  attentions  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  ig- 


l86  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

nored  the  paraphernalia  of  art ;  but  a  more  practical  man, 
intent  on  business,  would  have  had  but  an  uncomfortable 
home  of  it,  until  a  bullet  put  an  end  to  his  dreary  quest, 
and 

"  The  de'il  flew  away  with  the  exciseman." 

The  driver  pulled  up  his  horses  by  a  way-side  cottage, 
and  inquired  whether  we  wished  to  see  Gotigane-barra. 
It  was  only  a  mile  or  so  out  of  our  route,  Patrick  there 
would  take  us  in  his  car,  and  he  would  wait  for  us  with  all 
the  pleasure  in  life.  So,  making  this  little  deflection,  we 
reached,  as  speedily  as  a  good  pony  could  take  us  over 
bad  roads,  the  gloomy  lake  and  mountains.  Here  we 
were  received  by  a  troop  of  juvenile  guides,  led  by  an  old 
man,  who,  with  a  long  white  beard,  and  staff,  intended,  I 
believe,  to  give  us  the  idea  of  a  venerable  and  pious  pil- 
grim, to  remind  us  probably  of  St.  Fion  Bar,  the  "  Saint  of 
the  Silver  Locks,"  who  founded  a  monastery  here;  but 
roguery  so  twinkled  in  his  eye,  and  imposition  so  quavered 
in  his  voice,  that  I  have  no  hesitation  in  speaking  with  re- 
gard to  him,  as  the  Edinburgh  Review  spake  of  Edgar 
Poe : — "He  was  a  blackguard  of  undeniable  mark." 

The  Irish  poet  Callanan  sings, 


GOUGANE-BARRA.  187 


"  There  is  a  green  island  in  lone  Gougane-barra, 
Where  Allua  of  songs  rushes  forth  as  an  arrow." 

We  visited  the  "green  island"  reaching  it  by  an  over- 
land route  (a  method  of  access  which  I  do  not  remember 
to  have  noticed  out  of  Ireland);  and  the  "  Allua  of  Songs" 
was  represented  by  a  discordant  din  in  Anglo-Irish,  from 
the  illustrious  humbug  in  the  beard,  and  his  satellites, 
which  would  have  interested  us  in  a  greater  degree,  had  we 
understood  only  a  twentieth  part  of  it. 

Ultimately,  we  caught  a  small  boy,  intelligent  and  in- 
telligible, and  he  told  us  how  the  great  Saint  had  here 
made  himself  deliciously  miserable,  feasting  upon  the  idea 
of  his  fasts ;  contemplating  his  macerations  in  the  lake,  as 
complacently  as  a  cornet  his  new  uniform,  or  his  sister  her 
first  ball-dress,  in  the  glass;  whipping  himself  as  industri- 
ously as  a  schoolboy  his  top ;  hugging  himself  in  his  hair 
shirt,  and  nestling  cosily  as  a  child  in  its  crib,  in  a  bed 
composed  of  ashes  and  broken  glass. 

These  and  other  austerities  by  which  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Bar  so  signally  extinguished  himself,  have  made  Gougane- 
barra,  even  to  this  day,  a  great  resort  for  pilgrims;  you  see 
"the  Stations"  and  you  see  graven  upon  a  stone,  which 
was  formerly  an  altar-stone,  the  list  of  prayers  to  be  said 


1 88  'A   LITTLE   TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

there ;  and  you  hear  of  many  wonderful  cures,  which  have 
been  performed  (I  always  like  that  story  of  the  priest,  who 
was  overheard,  while  telling  his  friend,  that  he  must  be  so 
good  as  to  excuse  his  absence,  as  he  was  engaged  "  to  re- 
hearse a  miracle  at  two  o'clock  /")  at  the  Holy  Well  hard 
by, — the  very  well,  it  may  be,  to  which  Larry  O'Toole 
took  Sheelah,  his  wife,  and  Phelim  (as  they  thought)  was 
"the  consekins  of  that  manoover." 

These  pilgrims,  some  fifty  years  ago,  used  to  drink  dili- 
gently as  soon  as  they  had  finished  their  prayers,  laying 
aside  the  staff  for  the  shillelagh,  and  kicking  off  their  san- 
dals for  a  jig  on  the  green.  Having  paid  off  the  old  score, 
they  began  a  new  account  like  gentlemen,  just  as  an  under- 
graduate, having  advanced  ten  pounds  to  his  tailor,  imme- 
diately orders  clothes  to  the  amount  of  twenty. 

Regaining  the  car  and  main  road,  we  pass  by  small 
silvery  lakes  from  which  the  trout  are  leaping,  " '  bekase" 
says  our  driver,  "  the  wather's  so  full  61  fish,  that  whiniver 
they  want  to  turn  round  they  must  jist  jump  out  and  do  it 
in  the  air,"  through  a  country  prettily  diversified  with 


'Woods  and  corn-fields,  and  the  abode  of  men, 
Scatter'd  at  intervals,  and  wreathing  smoke, 
Arising  from  such  rustic  roofs 


INCHIGEELA. 


189 


as  are  only  to  be  seen   in  Ireland,  and  so  come  to  Inchi- 
geela. 

Apropos  of  cornfields,  I  must  not  forget  a  striking  ex- 
ample of  scientific  ingenuity,  which  we  saw  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood. A  small  cornstack  had  been  raised,  so  grievously 
out  of  the  perpendicular,  that  the  tower  of  Pisa  would  have 
looked  severely  straight  by  it.  But  the  builder  saw  his 
error,  before  it  was  too  late,  and  had  gloriously  saved  his 
cereal  structure,  by  erecting  another,  opposite  to  and  abut- 
ting towards  it,  until  they  supported  each  other,  like  the 
commencement  of  those  card  houses,  which  we  built  in 
early  youth,  a  chevron  in  heraldry,  or  two  drunken  sots 
"  seeing  each  other 
home." 

At  Inchigeclcis 
clean  and  comfort- 
able inn,  we  had  a 
capital  luncheon  "^ 
for  ninepence,  and 
then  "lionised"  the 
village.  The  first 
object  of  interest 
was  a  pig,  asleep  under  a  tree  by  the  brookside, 


190  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

"  Pinguem,  nitidumque 
Bene  curata  cute." 

(I  may  add  bene  curandd,  as  the  bacon  that  is  to  be  cannot 
possibly  hear),  and  so  serenely  dignified  in  its  complete  re- 
pose, so  "  mildly  majestical,"  that  one  almost  expected  to 
see  a  point-lace  nightcap,  and  fair  girls  fanning  away  the 
flies  !  He  looked  as  happy  as  Gryllus,  that  companion  of 
Ulysses,  who,  being  transformed  into  a  pig  by  Circe,  and, 
being  subsequently  offered  redintegration,  preferred  the 
swinish  estate ;  huge  and  handsome  as  the  famous  boar, 
who  ate  the  Reverend  Mr.  Haydn,  after  the  victory  of  the 
rebels  at  Enniscorthy ;  *  obese  and  sleepy,  as  Silenus, 
when  found  by  the  shepherds,  Chrjmis  and  Mnasylus ;  t 
refreshed  and  comfortable,  like  that  great  0 'Neil,  who 
(Camden  says  so)  was  wont  to  plunge  himself  into  the  mire, 
as  a  cooler  and  restorative,  after  great  excess. 

Progressing,  we  come  to  the  Constabulary  Barracks, 
where  a  couple  of  constables,  with  such  moustaches  as 
would  make  a  young  Cornet  groan,  are  polishing  up  their 
carbines.  Our  London  police  are  well-favoured  in  appear- 
ance, but  if  the  Irish  constables  were  to  take  their  place, 

*  Sir  Jonah  Harrington's  Personal  Sketches,  vol.  Hi.,  p.  422. 
t  Virgil  Eclogue,  vi.  13 


IRISH    CONSTABULARY. 


19  1 


there  would  not  be  a  single  female-servant,  to  be  "war- 
ranted heart-whole,"  in  the  great  Metropolis,  and  the  very 
name  of  Meat-safe 

^••^^  B^B  '      ~~  r**v 

would    become    a    by-          __  ^B^      CS     V  W^» 

word   and  a  laughing-     ~^~X^S^^    jfl^^^VM 
stock. 

In  the  river  hard  by, 
a  girl,  standing  ankle-  -^ 
deep,  from  time  to  time, 
like  the  young  lady  in 
"  the  Soldier's  Tear," 
held  aloft  a  snowy  — 
never  mind  what;  and, 
having  plunged  it  into 
the  stream,  and  placed  it  upon  a  stone,  belaboured  it  (as 
though  it  were  a  drunken  husband)  with  an  implement  of 
wood,  which  much  resembled  a  villager's  clumsy  cricket-bat. 
Two  Schools,  and  one  actually  at  work!  real  pupils, 
making  the  pace  too  severe  to  last  (when  they  saw  us 
looking  at  them),  with  real  slate-pencils  over  real  slates !  I 
wonder  whether  they  were  doing  the  "  Irish  Arithmetic" 
of  which  O'Hara  declares  the  following  to  be  a  faithful 
specimen: — 


192  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


"  Twice  5  is  6; 

The  gs  in  4  you  can't ; 
So  dot  3,  and  carry  I  ; 
And  let  the  rest  walk !" 

Returning  after  a  prolonged  and  pleasant  stroll,  we 
found  the  horses  in  the  car,  and  the  driver  seated  on  his 
box.  Now,  an  English  coachman  would  have  yelled  at  us, 
and  English  passengers  would  have  scowled  on  us,  for  de- 
taining them  ;  but  the  Irishman  gave  us  a  pleasant  smile  of 
recognition,  as  though  it  was  very  kind  of  us  to  come  back 
at  all,  and  did  not  start  for  full  five  minutes,  to  assure  us 
that  we  had  caused  no  inconvenience.  Certainly,  it  was 
one  of  those  warm,  still,  delicious  summer  days  on  which 
nobody  wants  to  start,  satisfied  with  the  calm  enjoyment  of 
the  present,  and  so  absorbed  and  occupied  in  doing  noth- 
ing, that  it  seems  to  be  quite  a  triumphal  effort  to  rouse 
one's-self  and  light  a  cigar  !  At  length  our  charioteer 
speaks  to  his  horses,  whose  drooping  heads  acknowledge 
the.  soporific  influence  of  the  day;  and  awaking  from  their 
favourite  night-mares,  they  bear  us  on  our  road  to  Cork. 

Now  we  pass  the  tower,  antique  and  ivy-clad,  of  Car- 
rigadrohid,  (nice  name  for  a  naughty  pointer,  requiring 
frequent  reprimands  on  a  broiling  day  in  September !);  a 
handsome  residence  on  the  hill  beyond,  with  the  pleasant 


FROM    GLENGARR1FF    TO    CORK.  193 

waters  of  the  river  Lcc,  which  accompanies  us  from  its 
source  at  Gongane-Batra  to  Cork,  winding  below  it;  and 
change  horses  at  Dripsey.  Between  this  latter  place  and 
Cork,  the  signs  of  civilisation  became  so  painfully  promi- 
nent, and  the  scenery  so  excruciatingly  English,  that,  hav- 
ing secured  ourselves  by  our  rug-straps  to  the  iron  bar 
behind  us,  our  "  custom  always  of  an  afternoon,"  when  we 
felt  inclined  for  a  siesta,  we  closed  our  eyes  in  sadness,  and 
tried  to  dream  of  Connamara  and  Killarney.  But  sights, 
too  dreadful  for  description,  scared  sleep  away.  Carts, 
whereupon  was  gaudily  emblazoned  "Albert  Bakery"  and 
"  Collard  and  Collard,"  fascinated  our  unwilling  gaze;  and 
we  shortly  found  ourselves  among  the  suburbs  disgustingly 
neat,  and  the  houses  offensively  comfortable,  of  "  that 
beautiful  city  called  Cork." 

On  the  right  and  left,  as  you  approach,  are  two  very 
imposing  and  extensive  structures,  Qi4eens  College,  and 
("  great  wit  to  madness  nearly  is  allied  ")  the  Lunatic  Asy- 
lum,— the  latter  so  large,  that  it  might  have  been  erected 
to  accomodate  those  numerous  patients  who  have  lost  their 
reason  in  vain  attempts  to  understand  Mr.  Bradshaw's 
Railway  Guide. 

Cork  is,  indeed,  a  "beautiful  city,"  delightfully  situated, 

'3 


194  LITTLE    TOUR    IX    IRELAND. 


handsomely  built,  and  having  more  the  appearance  of  en- 
ergy, prosperity,  and  comfort,  than  any  other  city  we  saw 
in  Ireland.  To  my  fancy  the  old  prophecy  is  fulfilled, — 

"  Limerick  \vas,  Dublin  is,  and  Cork  shall  be 
The  finest  city  of  the  three." 

The  river  Lee,  dividing  here,  flows  round  the  island  on 
which  principally  the  city  stands  ;  and  upon  the  wooded 
hills  above,  the  richer  part  of  the  community  have  their 
pleasant,  healthful  homes. 

Now,  although  I  have  deplored  our  transition  from  the 
wild  scenery  of  Connamara  and  Kerry  to  the  formalities 
of  cultivation  and  refinement,  I  am  not  so  bigoted  as  to 
deny  that  civilisation  has  its  advantages;  and,  among 
them,  I  would  specially  include  "  the  Imperial  Hotel"  in 
Pembroke  Street.  An  excellent  dinner,  in  pleasant  society 
(the  exception  being  a  vulgar,  garrulous  old  female,  who 
ate  with  her  knife,  and  told  us  how,  in  one  of  the  foreign 
churches,  she  had  "  tried  very  'ard  to  convert  an  aconite, 
quite  a  genteel  young  man,")  followed  by  some  irreproach- 
able claret, 

"  with  beaded  bubbles  winking  at  the  brim,'' 
disposed  us  to  criticise  very  leniently  the  defects  and  infe- 


CORK.  195 

riorities  of  art ;  and  we  left  our  inn  to  see  the  fireworks  in 
the  Mardyke  Gardens,  not  only  consoled  but  cheery.  All 
Cork  appeared  to  be  going  in  procession  up  the  long 
avenue  of  fine  old  trees ;  and  as  the  subsequent  exhibition 
appeared  to  be  quite  satisfactory,  I  can  pay  "all  Cork"  the 
compliment  of  saying,  that  it  is  very  easily  pleased.  To  us, 
as  we  stood  in  the  long,  damp  grass,  and  the  varnish  was 
retiring  from  our  favourite  boots,  intervals  of  twenty  min- 
utes between  the  pyrotechnic  performances  soon  began  to 
be  rather  tedious ;  and  we  longed  to  repeat  an  experiment, 
originally  introduced  at  the  Henly  Regatta,  when  a  dozen 
of  us  combining,  applied  our  cigars  to  all  the  "  fixed 
pieces"  at  once,  and  the  grand  design,  which  was  to  crown 
the  whole,  anticipated  its  glories  by  a  couple  of  hours,  and 
wished  the  bewildered  spectators  "  GOOD  NlGHT"  (in  glit- 
tering letters  two  feet  long)  almost  as  soon  as  they  had 
paid  for  their  admission  ! 


196  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


CORK. 

I  WAS  dreaming  that  I  met  Lord  Evelyn,  at  sunrise,  in 
the  Gap  of  Dunloe ;  that  he  put  into  my  hand,  with  a 
graceful  bow  and  striking  amenity,  the  largest  horse-pistol 
I  ever  saw,  constructed,  as  he  said,  upon  novel  principles, 
by  which  it  loaded  itself,  and  would  continue  to  go  off  until 
three  o'clock,  with  appropriate  airs  from  a  musical  box  in 
the  handle  ;  that,  leaving  me  with  a  kind  of  Pas  de  Basque, 
which  I  thought  very  inappropriate  at  such  a  crisis,  and 
taking  up  a  position  twelve  paces  from  me,  he  produced  a 
weapon,  similar  to  mine,  and  requested  me  to  "  blaze 
away ;"  that  I  was  making  frantic,  but  futile  efforts  to  get 
my  deadly  instrument  on  full  cock,  and  that  my  Lord,  dis- 
daining to  take  any  advantage,  was  pinking  the  eagles,  as 
they  flew  overhead  ;  when  the  loud  ringing  of  a  contiguous 
bell  recalled  me  to  the  realities  of  life.  There  is  ever  in 
these  large  hotels  some  unhappy  inmate,  who  is  unable  to 
put  himself  into  communication  with  Boots,  Avho  rings  his 


QUKENSTOWN.  197 


bell  with  an  ever-increasing  energy,  until  he  performs,  at 
last,  in  his  wild  fury,  such  a  continuous  peal,  as  must  bring 
up  somebody,  or  bring  down  the  rope.  It  is  interesting  to 
listen  to  these  bells.  First  they  suggest,  then  they  entreat, 
then  they  remonstrate,  then  they  insist,  and  then  they  curse 
and  swear !  Like  the  music  of  the  Overture  to  Guillaumc 
Tell,  they  begin  pleasantly  and  peacefully,  then  they  grow 
grand  and  warlike,  crescendo -ing,  from  andante  pianissimo, 
until  they  arrive  at  allegro  fortissimo  ;  and  reminding  me 
of  a  village  dame,  whom  I  heard  calling  from  her  cottage 
door  to  a  child,  playing  in  the  distance,  and  hearing  but  not 
heeding  its  mother  : 

"  Lizzie,  luv .'" 

"  LlZ— A  -BUTH  !" 

"  E— LIZ— ER— BUTH  !" 

"BESS,  YOU  YOUNG-    -!" 

epithet  too  suggestive  of  the  kennel  for  readers  of  polite 
literature. 

Of  course  we  went  to  see  the  old  Cove  of  Cork,  who,  in 
a  spirit  of  loyalty,  but  to  the  great  disappointment  of  face- 
tious visitors,  has  changed  his  name  to  Quccnstown.  We 
trav3llecl  by  rail  to  Passage,  and  thence  by  steamer.  What 


198  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

shall  I  say  of  this  glorious  haven,  "  Statio  bene  fida  carinis," 
twelve  miles  from  city  to  sea  ?  What  a  refreshment  and 
gladness  must  it  be  to  the  weary  sailor,  to  come  from  his 
lone  voyage  on  "  the  sad  sea  waves,"  to  this  safe  home  and 
refuge,  to  listen  to  the  summer  bree/e,  softly  sighing  in 
those  upland  groves,  instead  of  to  the  tempest,  as  it  bends 
the  creaking  mast,  and  to  look  down  upon  those  calm  and 
glittering  waters,  with  the  gay  craft  of  Peace  and  Pleasure 
gliding  gracefully  to  and  fro. 

Should  it  ever  be  my  happy  lot  to  revisit  the  city  and 
haven  of  Cork,  I  shall  most  certainly  decline  to  land  at 
Queenstown.  The  gentleman  who  took  a  Census  of  the 
smells  at  Cologne,  and  said, 

"  At  Colne,  a  town  of  monks  and  bones, 
And  pavements,  fanged  with  murderous  stones, 
And  rags  and  jags,  and  hideous  wenches, 
I  counted  four-and-seventy  stenches, 
All  well-defined  and  separate  stinks!" 

might,  perhaps,  be  interested  in  this  locality,  and  would 
find  an  ample  field  for  his  nasal  arithmetic.  The  heat  was 
intense,  the  tide  low  ;  and,  though  I  have  no  doubt  that, 
further  from  the  sea,  the  place  is  sweet  and  healthy  enough, 
I  never  remember  to  have  inhaled  so  offensive  an  atmos- 


QUEENSTOWN. 


phere  as  that  which  prevailed,  upon  St.  Bartholomew's 
Day,  in  the  year  1858,  and  in  the  front  street  of  the 
Queen's  Town.  As  as  Irishman,  Chief  Baron  Woulfe,  once 
wrote  of  Paris,  "  the  air  is  so  loaded  with  stenches  of  every 
kind,  as  to  be  quite  irrespirable ;"  and  turning  to  my 
friend,  I  said,  "O  Francis,  it  is  written,  in  this  'Handbook 
to  the  Harbour  and  City  of  Cork,'  that  '  Queens  town  is  cel- 
ebrated, and  justly  so,  for  the  equality,  mildness,  and  salu- 
brity of  its  temperature/  and  that  '  many  medical  men 
prefer  it  to  the  climate  of  Madeira;'  but  take  thy  kerchief 
from  thy  nose  brief  while,  and  answer  me,  my  Francis, 
terse  and  true,  doth  not  this  statement  seem  to  thee,  in 
boyhood's  phrase,  'a  Corker!'  ' 

He  replied,  that  "  as  the  stinks  were  not  quite  suffi- 
ciently defined  to  sketch,  he  should  hire  a  boat  and  bathe;" 
and,  having  purchased  a  couple  of  oyster-cloths,  the  nearest 
approximation  he  could  find  to  towels,  so  indeed  he  did, 
leaving  me  (incapable  of  natation),  to  contemplate  the  Gar- 
rison, an  extensive  pile  with  a  very  military  and  practical 
look,  Spike  Island,  once  the  residence  of  Mr.  Mitchell,  and 
now  occupied  by  some  2000  malefactors  of  less  illustrious 
name,  and  Rocky  and  Hawlbowline  Islands,  which  are  used 
as  ammunition  stores. 


200  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


The  heat  and  the  incense  (how  I  envied  the  white  gulls, 
flying  lazily  over  the  waters,  and  ever  and  anon  dipping,  as 
one  thought,  to  cool  themselves !)  were  so  oppressive  and 
irritating,  that  when  a  small  boy,  buying  apples,  would 
keep  dropping  them  on  the  ground,  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
thrust  more  into  his  pocket  than  the  cavity  could  possibly 
accommodate,  I  almost  thirsted  for  his  blood,  and  like  the 
stern  old  Governor  in  Don  Juan,  I  could  have  seen  him 

"thrown 
Into  the  deep  without  a  tear  or  groan." 

Yea,  should  have  esteemed  it  to   be  Hari-kari,  which   is 
Japanese,  you  know,  for  "happy  dispatch."  * 

In  expiation  of  these  sanguinary  thoughts,  I  subse- 
quently presented  a  fourpenny  piece,  as  conscience  money, 
to  a  miserable-looking  beggar,  who  "  had  not  tasted  food," 
&c.  &c.  &c.  &c.,  and  who  only  asked  for  "  a  halfpenny,  to 
buy  a  piece  of  bread."  But  he  had  scarcely  left  me  (hav- 
ing previously  requested  all  the  saints  to  pay  me  particular 


*  "  The  Hari-kari,  or  '  Happy  Dispatch,'  is  still  practised  by  the  Japanese. 
This  consists  in  ripping  open  their  own  bowels  with  two  cuts,  in  the  form  of  a 

cross Princes,  and  the  high  classes,  receive  permission  to  rip  themsehes 

up,  as  a  special  favour,  when  under  sentence  of  death."-  Japan  and  her  People,  by 
A.  Steinmitz. 


QUEF.NSTOWN.  201 


attention),  when  I  heard  one  of  two  men,  who  were  leaning 
against  the  wall,  on  which  I  sat  smell-bound,  say  to  his 
neighbour  that  "  the  jintleman  must  have  more  brass  than 
brains,  to  go  and  give  his  money  to  a  drunken  shoemaker, 
who'd  been  out  three  days  on  the  spree."  Yes,  my  groat 
was  gone  to  buy  alcohol  for  this  impostor,  this  Cork  Leg  ; 
and  I  felt  as  though  I  very  closely  resembled  that  bird 
which  the  French  call  "  Lc  Brnant  Fon,"  and  we  "the 
Foolish  Bunting,"  because  it  is  so  easily  ensnared. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  joyous  departure  from  humbug,  dead 
fish,  and  servers,  to  the  waves,  that  were  dancing  in  a 
pleasant  breeze  (which  prudently  declined  to  venture 
ashore);  and  we  were  as  glad  to  make  an  escape  as  our 
great  sailor,  Sir  Francis,  when,  outnumbered,  by  the  Span- 
iards, he  came,  crowding  all  sail,  into  Cork  Harbour,  and 
hid  himself  securely  in  "  Drake's  Pool." 

Lovely  as  the  scene  around  her,  there  sat  upon  the 
deck,  as  we  returned  to  Passage,  a  winsome  Irish  bride, 
fondly  gazed  upon  by  her  happy  husband,  and  less  osten- 
sibly by  ourselves,  and  about  a  dozen  officers,  who  were 
bound  for  Cork,  from  the  Garrison  and  Club  house  at 
Queenstown.  Was  it  that  mysterious  talent  of  beauty, 
which  without  words  can  say,  "  I  recognise  your  homage, 


202  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

and  it  does  not  displease  me;"  or  was  it  only  our  own 
enormous  vanity  which  caused  each  of  us  to  imagine,  as  I 
feel  convinced  we  did,  that,  could  she  only  have  foreknown 
our  peculiar  fascinations,  she  would  have  laughed  to  scorn 
the  inferior  animal,  who  was  now  grinning  by  her  side? 

We  returned  to  the  Imperial  for  luncheon  (and  I  am 
unacquainted  with  any  midday  refreshment  more  interest- 
ing than  prawns,  fresh  and  full-grown,  with  bread  and 
butter  a  discretion,  and  the  golden  ales  of  Burtoii),  and 
then  took  car  for  Blarney.  Our  horse  was  evidently  as 
fond  of  his  home  as  that  enthusiastic  citizen  who,  with  a 
charming  indifference  to  anachronisms,  declared  that 
Athens  was  called  "  the  Cork  of  Greece"  and  would  keep 
perpetually  turning  round  to  gaze  upon  the  beautiful  city. 
In  vain  the  driver  inquired  satirically  whether  he  had 
dropped  his  umbrella,  or  forgotten  to  order  dinner,  or 
whether  there  was  anything  on  his  mind;  in  vain  he  ad- 
dressed him  vituperatively,  called  him  an  old  clothes- 
horse,  and  threatened  to  take  him  to  the  asylum;  in  vain, 
trying  the  persuasive,  he  assured  him  that  we  had  come  all 
the  way  from  England  to  see  him,  having  heard  so  much 
of  his  speed  and  beauty,  and  that,  if  he  would  keep  up  his 
character,  and  be  a  gentleman,  he  should  have  such  a  feed 


BLARNEY. 


203 


of  old  beans  that  day,  as  would  cause  him  to  neigh  for  joy. 
All  in  vain !  from  time  to  time  round  went  this  uncomfort- 
able horse,  until  at  last,  as  some  fond  lover  takes  one  more 
look  at  his  beloved,  and  then  rushes  wildly  away,  where 
duty  calls  or  glory  waits  him,  our  eccentric  quadruped 
started  off  at  full  trot,  and  during  the  remainder  of  our 
journey  comported  himself  with  great  propriety. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


BLARNEY. 

THE  old  Castle  of  Blarney,  like  the  castle  of  Macbeth, 
by  Inverness, 

"hath  a  plea>ant  seat ;  the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentler  senses  ;" 

and  it  commands  a  fine  view  "  over  the  water  and  over  the 
Lee,"  over  lake  and  meadow,  and  over  "  the  Groves  of 
Blarney,"  renowned  in  song.  The  landscape  rewards  your 
exertions,  when  you  have  ascended  the  narrow  staircase  of 


204  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

the  sole  remaining  tower,  and  this  somewhat  resembles 
(" magna  componere"}  an  excellent  "Stilton,"  which  has 
gone  the  way  of  all  good  cheeses,  and  is  now  a  hollow  ruin 
— a  ruin  on  which  some  sentimental  mouse  might  sit,  like 
Marius  at  Carthage,  and  bitterly  recall  the  past. 

Looking  down  this  cavity,  made  gloomier  by  the  dark 
ivy  and  wild  myrtle,  which  grow  from  floor  to  battlement, 
one  feels  that  fainty  thrill  and  chilliness  which  is  equally 
unpleasant  and  indescribable,  and  gladly  divert  our  atten- 
tion, first  to  the  stone  displaced  by  a  cannon  shot,  in  the 
days  of  the  incomparable  Lady  Jeffreys,  when 


"Oliver  Cromwell,  he  did  her  pummel], 
And  broke  a  breach  all  in  her  battlement.'' 


and  then  to  another  stone  lower  down  in  the  tower,  and 
bearing  the  inscription,  "  Cormac  MacartJiy  Fortis  Me 
Fieri  Fecit,  A.D.  1446,"  which  may  be  translated  liberally, 

"  Cormac  Macarthy,  bould  as  bricks, 
Made  me  in  Fourteen  Forty-six.'" 

l 

This  is  said  to  be  the  original  Blarney  Stone,  but  as  no 
man  could  possibly  kiss  it,  unless  (as  Sir  Boyle  Roche  ob- 
served) he  happened  to  be  a  bird,  or  an  acrobat,  twelve  feet 


BLARNEY  2O$ 

long,  and  suspending  himself  by  his  feet  from  the  summit 
of  the  Tower,  we  were  content  to  believe  in  the  conven- 
tional granite,  which  now  bears  the  name,  and  which,  being 
situated  at  the  top  of  one  of  the  turrets,  is  very  accessible 
for  osculation. 

Of  this  lapideous  phenomenon,  the  author  of  "The 
Groves  of  Blarney  "  sings, 

"There  is  a  stone  there,  that  whoever  kisses, 
Oh,  he  never  misses  to  grow  eloquent; 
'  Tis  he  may  clamber  to  a  lady's  chamber, 
Or  become  a  member  of  parliament 

A  clever  spouter  he'll  sure  turn  out,  or 

An  out-and-outer,  to  be  let  alone  : 

Don't  hope  to  hinder  him,  or  to  bewilder  him, 

Sure  he's  a  pilgrim  from  the  Blarney  Stone !  " 

Now  it  is  my  conviction,  primarily  suggested  by  my 
own  sensations,  and  subsequently  confirmed  by  what  I 
noticed  in  others,  as  I  lingered  on  that  ancient  tower,  that 
the  majority  of  those  who  kiss  the  Blarney  Stone,  do  wish 
and  try  to  believe  in  it.  We  English  have  so  scanty  a 
stock  of  superstitions,  and  some  of  these  so  wanting  in  re- 
finement and  dignity,  as,  for  instance,  the  "crossing  out" 
of  an  isolated  magpie,  the  ejection  of  spilt  salt  over  the  left 
shoulder,  deviations  into  the  gutter  to  avoid  a  ladder, 


2O6  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IX    IRELAND. 


the  mastication  of  pancakes  upon  Shrove  Tuesday,  and  the 
like,  that  we  are  glad  of  any  pretext  for  gratifying  that  in- 
nate love  of  the  marvellous,  which  exists,  more  or  less,  in 
us  all, — aye,  and  will  exist,  until  John  Bright  is  Premier  of 
England,  and  our  Fairy  Tales  and  Arabian  Nights,  and  all 
our  books  of  pleasant  fiction  are  solemnly  burnt  at  Oxford, 
before  a  Synod  of  costive  Quakers. 

And  then  it  is  so  gratifying  for  Mammas  to  fancy,  as 
they  bend  to  kiss  the  magic  stone,  that  assuredly  they 
"stoop  to  conquer,"  henceforth,  by  a  new  and  dulcet  elo- 
quence, those  little  idiosyncrasies  of  "  dear  Papa,"  which 
have  thwarted  their  happiest  schemes,  such  as  his  insu- 
perable apathy  on  the  subject  of  that  new  Conservatory, 
although  "  you  know,  darling,  both  Mr.  Nesfield  and  Mr. 
Thomas,  declared  it  to  be  indispensable." 

Pleasant,  too,  for  their  charming  daughter  of  nineteen, 
to  think  that  she  hereafter  shall  not  ask  in  vain  for  that 
tour  in  Switzerland,  that  ball  at  home,  those  boxes,  varying 
in  shape  and  size ;  small,  from  the  stores  of  Howell  and  of 
James;  medium,  from  Messieurs  Hill  and  Piver;  and  large, 
very  large,  from  "  the  infallible  Mrs.  Murray,"  and  Jane 
Clark,  in  the  Street  of  the  Regent. 

Enlivening,  moreover,  for  that  Eton  boy  to  believe,  as 


THE   BLARNEY   STONE. 


BLARNEY. 


207 


he  salutes  tJic  Blarney  Stone,  that  now  he  has  only  to  give 
the  Governor  a  hint,  and  "  that  clipping  little  horse  of 
young  Farmer  Smith's  "  will  be  purchased  forthwith,  and 
presented  to  him,  to  carry  him  next  season  with  the  Bel- 
voir  hunt. 

Miserable  Father,  how  shall  he  meet  this  irresistible  in- 
cursion upon  his  purse  and  peace.  Well  may  he  look 
coldly  on  the  Blarney  Stone  !  Well  may  he  express,  from 
heart  and  hope,  his  belief  that  it's  "all  humbug."  And 
yet,  methinks,  remembering  that  last  Election,  that  dis- 
tressingly effete  experiment  to  nominate  Sir  John  Golum- 
pus,  that  fearful  silence,  when  he  came  to  grief,  that  vulgar 
gibe  "go  'ome,  and  tak'  a  pill,"  he  too  must  sigh  for  this 
gift  of  Blarney,  and  long  to  kiss  the  Stone. 

See,  they  are  leaving  the  battlements, — first  the  Eto- 
nian, then  his  sister,  and  then  Mamma.  O,  wily  Pater- 
familias !  Suddenly  remembering  that  he  "  has  left  his 
stick  "  (he  has,  and  purposely),  he  steps  briskly  back,  and, 
stooping  for  his  cane, — salutes  the  rock  !  He,  at  all  events, 
won't  "  kiss,  and  tell." 

But  everybody  kisses  it.  The  noisy  old  girl,  whom  we 
met  yesterday  at  the  Table  d'Hote,  and  who  preferred  steel 


208  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


to  silver,  as  a  medium  for  the  transmission  of  food,  reached 
the  summit  of  the  tower  very  short  of  wind,  but  resumed, 
as  soon  as  ever  she  could  speak,  a  severe  sermon  upon  the 
errors  of  "Room"  and  its  superstitions  in  particular.  And 
yet,  ultimately  (affecting  to  do  it  in  ridicule, — let  us  be 
charitable,  and  hope  that,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  she  had  in 
view  the  conversion  of  her  "  genteel  Aconite  "),  she  kissed 
the  Stone  ;  and  we  were  glad  to  have  already  done  so. 

We  saw  the  kitchen,  where  beeves  were  cooked  in  the 
merry  old  times,  and  the  banquet-hall  wherein  they  were 
carved.  The  latter  was  appropriated  to  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  rickety  old  farming  implements, — rust,  and 
dust,  and  decay,  where  brave  knights  laughed  over  the 

winecup, — 

"  And  tapers  shone,  and  music  breath'd, 
And  beauty  led  the  ball." 

Shall  we  re-ascend  the  tower,  and  preach,  from  that  old 
stone  pulpit,  on  " pulvis  et  umbra  sitmus  ?"  Perhaps,  as 
there  is  no  congregation,  and  a  Lunatic  Asylum  mighty 
convenient,  we  may  as  well  postpone  our  sermon,  and  turn 
our  steps  to  the  gardens  and  groves  of  Blarney. 

If  the  poet  had  not  told  us  that  "they  are  so  charming," 
I  should  scarcely  have  discovered  the  fact  for  myself,  as 


2°9 

they   are    but    feebly    ornamented    with    flowers,    and  — 

"  The  gravel  walks  there,  for  speculation, 
And  conversation,  in  sweet  solitude,'' 

and  damply  suggestive  of  a  cold  in  the  head.  At  the  same 
time,  from  their  pleasant  position  and  varied  surface,  these 
grounds  have  a  charm  about  them ;  and  I  should  much 

like  to  wander  in  them,  by  moonlight,  with (I  must 

decline,  like  the  Standard  Bearer,\.o  communicate  the  young 
lady's  name),  just  to  see  whether  I  had  derived  any  benefit 
from  my  salutation  of  the  Blarney  Stone;  whether  I  could 
say  mavourneen  with  a  sweeter  tenderness,  and  discourse 
more  fluently  those  "  sugared  glosses,"  which  are  called  by 
the  sentimental  "  heart  music"  and  by  the  unsentimental 
"bosh" 

In  these  grounds  the  portly  old  gardener  showed  us  one 
of  those  Cromlechs,  which  were  used  by  the  Druids  for 
sacrificial  or  sepulchral  purposes,  and  in  which,  I  am 
ashamed  to  say,  we  professed  an  all-absorbing  interest, 
though,  on  my  asking  Frank,  as  we  left  the  gardens,  "what 
a  Cromlech  was  ?"  he  replied  that,  prior  to  inspection,  his 
idea  had  always  been  that  it  was  a  species  of  antedeluvian 
buffalo  ! 


210  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

Then  we  saw  the  lake 

"That  is  stored  with  perches, 
And  comely  eels  in  the  verdant  mud ; 
Besides  the  leeches,  and  groves  of  beeches, 
All  standing  in  order  for  to  guard  the  flood." 

They  say  that,  from  this  lake  enchanted  cows,  snow- 
white  and  of  wondrous  beauty,  come  forth  in  the  summer 
mornings,  and  wander  among  the  dewy  meads,  to  the  in- 
tense astonishment  and  admiration,  doubtless,  of  the  cele- 
brated Irish  Bulls.* 

And  they  say,  moreover,  that  beneath  these  waters 
(which  we  ventured  to  designate  Cowes- harbour,  in  allusion 
to  the  mysterious  kine),  lies  the  plate-chest  of  the  Macar- 
thys,  about  the  size  of  a  gasometer,  and  never  to  be  raised 
until  once  again  a  Macarthy  shall  be  lord  of  Blarney.  It 
will  be  a  busy  day  for  the  butler,  and  a  happy  one  for  those 
who  deal  in  plate-powder,  whenever  this  restoration  shall 
occur. 

Our  driver  gave  us,  as  we  returned,  a  taste  of  his  auto- 
biography. I  wish  that  I  could  repeat  it  verbatim,  for 
Irish  humour  loses  its  bloom  if  it  is  not  faithfully  rendered; 

*  The  only  lapsus  lingua,  resembling  a  bull,  which  I  heard  during  our  tour, 
was  from  a  fellow  passenger,  in  Connamara,  who  was  repeating  a  conversation,  of 
which  he  declared  himself  to  have  been  an  eye-witness. 


CAR-DRIVER'S  STORY. 


but  my  memory  only  retains  the  incidents,  and,  here  and 
there,  a  phrase  of  his  story. 

He  was  in  England  several  years  ago,  at  the  time  of 
harvest,  travelling,  sickle  in  hand,  with  a  dozen  of  "  the 
boys,"  and  looking  out  for  employment  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of,  or,  as  he  termed  it,  "  contagious  to  th'ould  castle 
of  Newark-upon-Trent."  A  hot  wind  blew  the  dust  along 
the  road,  for  "  the  good  people  were  a-going  their  jour- 
neys ;"  *  and  they  were  resting  awhile,  and  looking  at  a 
fine  crop  of  wheat,  by  the  wayside,  when  two  young  men 
on  horseback  stopped,  and  asked  them  "  whether  they 
wanted  work  ?" 

Now,  it  seems,  that  there  lived  in  these  parts,  at  the 
period  of  our  history,  one  of  those  unhappy  malcontents 
whose  counsel,  like  Moloch's,  is  for  open  war  with  every- 
thing and  everybody  about  them  ;  who  can  believe  no 
good  of  their  neighbours,  because  they  find  none  in  them- 
selves; who  murmur  at  the  rich,  and  are  mean  and  merciless 
to  the  poor ;  who  go  to  meeting-house  to  spite  the  parson, 
and  to  church  to  vex  the  preacher ;  who  attend  parish- 


*  The  Irish  have  a  superstition,  that  when  the  dust  is  caught  up.  and  blown 
about  by  the  wind,  it  is  a  sign  that  the  fairies  are  travelling  "- 
Af.iria  Fdgeworih,  vol.  iv.  p.  72. 


212  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

meetings  to  stir  up  quarrels,  and  to  set  one  class  against 
another ;  who  poison  foxes,  and  put  their  great  ugly  boots 
into  partridge-nest ;  and  sedulously  devote  themselves  in 
every  way  to  promote  the  misery  of  mankind. 

A  bear  of  this  calibre,  calling  himself  a  farmer,  was  ten- 
ant of  the  field  on  which  the  Irishmen  gazed;  and  a  plan 
occurred  to  the  merry  young  gentlemen  by  which  they 
might  amuse  themselves,  occupy  the  reapers,  and  annoy 
"that  mangy  old  hunks."  Accordingly,  they  at  once  re- 
tained our  friend  the  car-driver,  and  his  company,  to  cut 
the  crop  before  them,  giving  them  particular  directions  to 
get  it  down  as  quickly  as  they  could,  and  agreeing  to  pay 
them  liberally  by  the  acre,  as  "  their  father  was  anxious  to 
get  it  stacked,  and  would  not  mind  their  doing  the  work  a 
bit  slovenly,  if  only  they  lost  no  time."  And  then,  having 
warned  them  "  not  to  take  any  notice  of  a  poor  half-witted 
fellow,  who  lived  near,  and  who,  fancying  that  all  the  land 
about  was  his  own,  might  possibly  try  to  interrupt  their 
proceedings,"  the  horsemen  wished  them  "good-day." 

They  had  been  at  work  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  had  left 
behind  them,  in  their  anxious  haste,  such  an  untidy  exam- 
ple of  sheaf  and  stubble  as  would  have  broken  Mr.  Mechi's 
heart,  when  a  loud  bellowing  in  the  distance  announced  the 


IRISH    IN    LONDON. 


213 


arrival  of  the  unhappy  lunatic  !  He  came  on,  roaring  and 
raving,  shaking  his  fist,  and  foaming  at  the  mouth.  He 
actually  danced  with  rage  among  the  sickles,  until  the 
reapers,  fearing  the  excision  of  his  legs,  forcibly  removed 
him,  and  with  twisted  strawbands,  secured  him  to  his  own 
gate  !  There,  trussed  and  pinioned,  he  sent  forth  such  howl- 
ings  through  "the  alarmed  air,"  as  scared  every  crow  from 
the  parish,  and  very  speedily  attracted  the  surprised  attention 
of  the  British  public  travelling  upon  the  Great  North  Road. 

The  reapers,  eventually,  found  it  expedient  to  retire 
with  considerable  agility,  much  disgusted  and  discomfited, 
at  being  "  sick  a  distance  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  wage, 
bedad,"  until  they  were  met  by  their  delighted  employers, 
who  not  only  presented  them  with  a  couple  of  sovereigns, 
but  introduced  them,  with  the  anecdote,  to  a  jolly  old  gen- 
tleman, hard  by,  from  whom  they  had  employment  to  the 
end  of  harvest. 

In  allusion  to  the  subject  of  Irishmen  in  England,  I 
asked  the  car-man,  when  he  had  concluded  his  story, 
whether  he  was  aware  that  there  were  as  many  of  his  coun- 
trymen living  in  London  as  in  the  city  of  Dublin  itself?* 

*  See  an  interesting  account  of  the  Irish  in  London,  the  Tht  Million -ptofltd 
City,  by  the  Rev.  J.  Garwood,  p.  246. 


214  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRKLAND. 

And  his  reply,  to  the  effect,  that  I  had  "brought  away  a 
dale  o1  vartue  from  ttiould  stone  atop  o'  Blarney"  reminded 
me  of  an  observation  made,  when  I  was  at  school,  by  our 
French  master,  to  a  boy  named  Drake.  "  Monsieur  Ca- 
nard, I  shall  not  call  you  a  liar,  but  I  do  not  believe  von 
vord  of  vot  you  say!" 

We  had  a  fine  view,  as  we  returned,  of  the  beautiful 
city  and  its  environs,  and,  re-entering  by  another  route,  we 
passed  the  ornate  chapel,  commenced  by  Father  Matthew, 
at  the  date  and  with  the  design,  so  charmingly  recorded  by 
the  poet, 

"  The  first  beginning  of  this  new  chapel 

Was  in  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-three ; 
It  will  soon  be  finish'd  by  the  subscribers, 
And  then  all  tyrants  away  must  flee." 

Next  morning,  having  purchased,  as  we  were  commis- 
sioned and  as  we  recommend  other  tourists  to  do,  a 
good  stock  of  highly-finished  but  low-priced  gloves  from 
Mollard,  in  the  street  of  St.  Patrick,  we  started  by  rail  for 
Dublin. 


DUBLIN.  21  r 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


FROM    DUBLIN    HOMEWARD. 

THERE  are  objects,  I  doubt  not,  in  the  well-cultivated 
country  which  lies  between  Cork  and  Dublin,  well  worthy 
of  special  notice,  but  we  did  not  pause  to  observe  them, 
passing  once  more  the  pretty  town  of  Mallow,  and  the 
Limerick  Junction,  reminded  at  Thurles  of  the  famous 
Synod,  and  longing,  as  we  passed  the  Curragh  (Ireland's 
Newmarket),  for  a  gallop  over  its  green,  elastic  sward. 

The  latest  intelligence,  which  we  obtained  from  Mark, 
on  our  arrival  at  Morrison 's,  was  that  Cardinal  Wiseman 
had  arrived  in  Dublin,  and  the  Fair  in  Donnybrook.  To 
the  latter  we  went,  as  soon  as  we  had  dined,  but  did  not 
meet  with  His  Eminence,  wiser  in  his  maturity  than  \Volscy 
in  his  youth,  for  Wolsey  not  only  went  to  the  fair,  but  got 
there  so  particularly  drunk,  that  he  was  put  into  the  stocks 
by  Sir  Atnyas  Paitlett, — if  you  doubt  it,  ask  "  Xotes 
Queries." 


2l6  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 

The  glories  of  Donny 'brook  have  declined  dismally  since 
those  more  happy  days,  when  Paddy 

"  Slipp'd  into  a  tent,  just  to  spend  half-a-crown, 

Slipp'd  out,  met  a  friend,  and  for  joy  knock'd  him  down, 
With  his  sprig  of  shillelagh,  and  shamrock  so  green  !" 

The  showmen  shouted,  and  the  drums  rumbled,  and  the 
cymbals  clanged,  and  the  fiddlers  fiddled,  but  the  dancing 
was  limp  and  feeble,  and  the  general  effect  was  dreary. 
We  visited  Mr.  Batty's  Menagerie,  and  were  offered  a 
mount  upon  a  young  elephant,  at  the  low  charge  of  one 
penny.  And  I  am  glad  that  we  declined;  because  the 
quadruped  in  question,  having  gone  round  the  show,  until 
it  was  tired  of  doing  so,  suddenly  dropped  upon  its  stern, 
and  discharged  its  jockeys  into  the  sawdust,  as  though  they 
were  a  load  of  coals  ! 

Then  we  visited  the  Theatre  of  Ferguson,  and  there  a 
Prima  Donna  appeared  to  us,  from  the  arrangement  of  her 
mouth  to  be  singing  with  remarkable  energy ;  but  we  had 
no  further  means  of  verifying  the  supposition,  as  the  whole 
House,  incited  by  her  example,  was  chanting  at  the  top  of 
its  voice.  And  I  must  say  that,  although  I  stood,  most 
uncomfortably  and  insecurely,  on  a  narrow  plank  at  the 
top  of  "  the  Boxes,"  I  never  enjoyed  a  concert  more ;  and 


DONNVBROOK    FAIR.  217 


I  very  much  doubt  whether  the  Pope  himself  could  have 
resisted  joining  in  the  Chorus. 

We  saw  nothing  at  all  suggestive  of  a  shindy  until  (to 
our  great  joy)  we  met  a  couple  of  our  college  friends, 
Hoare,  the  stroke  of  our  boat,  tall  among  the  tallest,  as 
Arba  among  the  Anakims,  arm  in  arm  with  little  Dibdin, 
the  coxswain  (they  have  been  sworn  friends,  ever  since 
Hoare  took  him  by  the  collar,  and  dropped  him  into  the 
Isis,  for  some  mistake  in  steering);  and  these  gentlemen 
were  armed  with  shillelaghs,  and  anxious,  as  the  old  lady 
in  the  captured  city,  to  know  when  the  fun  would  begin. 
"  For  now  I  see,"  said  Hoare, — 

"  The  true  old  times  are  gone, 
When  every  morning  brought  a  noble  chance, 
And  every  chance  brought  out  a  noble  knight,"— 

"  And  every  knight,"  I  said,  as  a  supplement,  "  brought 
home  a  broken  head.  Let  us  haste  to  Kelvin  Grove — I 
mean,  let  us  return  to  Morrisson's  .'" 

We  steamed  away  next  morning  from  Kingstown  Quay. 
Looking  back  upon  that  lovely  bay,  I  thought  of  the  poor 
Irishman's  most  touching  words,  as  he  gazed  for  the  last 
time  on  his  native  land,  "  Ah,  Dublin,  sweet  Jasus  be  with 


2l8  A    LITTLE    TOUR    IN    IRELAND. 


you  !"  and  from  my  heart  I  breathed  an  earnest  prayer  for 
the  good  weal  of  beautiful  Ireland  ! 

******* 

And  now  our  "Little  Tour  "  is  over;  and  its  story  must 
go  forth,  like  some  small  boy  to  a  public  school,  to  find  its 
true  place  and  level.  It  may,  perhaps,  receive  more  pedal 
indignities  than  donations  of  a  pecuniary  kind;  vulgarly 
speaking,  more  kicks  than  halfpence ;  but  as  no  severities 
can  deprive  the  boy  of  his  pleasant  memories  of  the  past, 
nor  chase  the  smile  from  his  tear-stained  and  inky  cheek, 
as  he  sleeps  to  dream  of  home  ;  so  no  criticism,  however 
caustic,  can  ever  mar  my  glad  remembrance  of  our  happy 
days  in  Ireland. 

And  in  mine  adversity,  should  such  befall,  I  shall  have 
yet  another  solace.  Hooted,  like  some  bad  actor,  from  the 
stage,  I  can  hide  myself  behind  scenery,  which  has  a  charm 
for  all,  and  which,  like  Phyllis  the  fair,  "  never  fails  to  please." 

Cheered  or  condemned,  whether  "  the  Duke  shall  say, 
let  him  roar  again,"  or  the  poor  player  shall  hear 

"On  all  sides,  from  innumerable  tongues, 
An  universal  hiss," 

the  drama  is  over,  and  the  curtain  falls. 

FINIS. 


ADVERTISEMENTS 


EKKEHARD,  a  Tale  of  the  Tenth  Century,  by  Joseph 
Victor  VOIl  Sclieft'el,  translated  from  the  German.  Two 
volumes.  Paper,  80  cts.  Cloth,  $1.50  per  set. 

"  It  is  more  than  thirty  years  since  the  appearance  of  Herr 
von  Scheffel's  famous  novel,  '  Ekkehard,'  which  produced  a  pro- 
found sensation  in  Germany,  and  from  that  time  to  this  has  been 
recognized  as  a  classic.  The  present  translation  of  this  brilliant 
work  is  excellent  and  unidiomatic,  the  original  beauties  of  style 
being  to  a  great  extent  preserved.  The  preface  —  an  essay  upon 
the  office  of  the  historical  novel  —  is  graceful  and  profound;  it 
exhibits  the  author  in  the  role  of  a  critic  who,  rebelling  slightly 
against  the  dry-as  dust  methods,  prefers  the  poetical  presentation 
of  truth  under  a  garb  which  is  attractive  as  well  as  accurate.  Not 
that  the  author  would  ignore  the  stern  and  unbending  require- 
ments of  the  historical  conscience,  but  he  would  clothe  the  crea- 
ture of  the  historian's  toil  and  labor  in  garments  which  add  to  its 
beauty  and  attractiveness.  No  more  brilliant  and  truthful  picture 
'of  the  age  has  ever  been  written  :  the  waning  yet  still  distinct  in- 
fluences of  heathen  rites  and  customs  and  heathen  gods,  the 
feudal  spirit,  the  ca.stle  and  the  cloister,  the  prelate  and  tlie  priest 
of  that  century  which  preceded  the  Carthusian  reform,  —  the  life, 
in  a  word,  of  the  tenth  century  is  portrayed  with  a  pen  directed 
by  a  scholar  and  an  enthusiast. 

Having  studied  the  records  of  St.  Gall  and  inspired  by  his 
own  poetic  and  chivalrous  nature,  drawing  deep  breaths  of  inspi- 
ration from  the  mountains  and  valleys  of  Switzerland,  Herr  von 
Scheffel,  with  Ranke's  love  for  truth  and  with  Schlegel's  senti- 
ment, wrote  with  a  burning  pen  the  history  of  Ekkehard,  the 
Monk  of  St.  Gall,  the  preceptor  of  the  beautiful  Hadwig, 
Duchess  of  Suabia.  Those  were  times  when  the  muscle  and 
brawn  of  the  knight  put  the  calm  seclusion  of  the  monastery  to 
shame,  when  the  Huns,  looking  back  to  Atilla  as  the  demigod  of 
their  race,  overran  the  south  of  Germany  and  harried  the  Rhine 
country  —  burning,  devastating,  destroying,  foes  to  State  and 
Church  alike,  and  eager  only  for  booty.  All  of  this  magnificent 
chaos  of  life  is  portrayed  with  a  fire  and  enthusiasm  which  rouses 
the  reader,  and  must  have  put  the  author  into  a  state  of  exaltation. 
The  characters  are  drawn  vith  vividness.  The  Greek  girl  1'rax- 
edis  is  a  gem  from  Byzantium  ;  the  Abbot,  the  boy-goatherd,  the 
Hun  and  his  German  wife,  and  the  chief  personages,  Hadwig 
and  Ekkehard,  have  an  actuality  which  makes  them  living  and 
breathing  personalities.  And  when  one  reads  the  song  of  Wal- 
thari,  that  most  ancient  of  the  ancient  songs  of  German  mediaeval 
times,  how  pale  and  colorless  seems  the  romance  of  '  The  Fairie 
Queen  '  in  comparison  with  the  superb  strength  and  daring  of  the 
contestants.  Few  historical  novels  are  so  charming,  few  deseive 
so  careful  study. "—The  Critic,  N.  Y.,  August  9,  1890. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  <  rechtur  d' Islan.it) 
A  Story  of  Love  on  Land  and  Sea,  by  Pierre  Loti,  from 
the  French  by  Clara  Cardiot,  One  Volume. 

i6mo,   Paper,  25  cents.       I2mo.  Cloth,  75  cents. 


"  '  An  Iceland  Fisherman  '  is  a  sad  but  wonderfully 
sweet  story  that  established  on  a  firm  foundation  the 
reputation  of  its  talented  author  almost  immediately 
upon  its  publication.  Breton  life  is  painted  with  a 
masterly  hand,  and  the  fine  descriptions,  tenderness 
and  pathos  of  the  story  give  it  an  interest  for  all 
classes  of  cultivated  readers  that  can  never  wane." — 
Boston  Commonwealth. 


THE  COURT  OF  CIIAKLKS  IV.  a  Romance,  by 
B.  Perez  <Jal<l6s,  from  the  Spanish  by  Clara  Bell,  in 
one  vol.  Price,  paper,  50  cts.  Cloth.  90  cts. 


"To  this  house  the  American  reading  public  owes  many  new 
and  delightful  sensations.  It  has  brought  into  popularity  here  a 
number  of  authors  of  undoubted  gcmus  whose  n-markable  works 
have  been  strangely  overlooked  by  o-her  publishers.  One  of  this 
brilliant  company  is  II  I'ere/  Galdov,  the  Sparish  romancer,  whose 
'  Gloria  '  has  recently  made  a  profound  impression  in  its  English  ver- 
sion at  the  hands  of  the  accomplished  linguist,  Clara  Hell.  1-rom 
the  same  author  and  the  same  translator  we  now  receive  a  novel 
of  love  and  war  as  powerful  of  its  kind  as  I'olsjo'fs  books  which  covei 
a  similar  range  of  human  interest.  The  action  takes  place  in  lin- 
early part  of  this  century,  when  Napoleon  was  the  disturbing  elenirm 
of  the  universe.  The  characters  who  num-  through  the  thrilling 
pages  are  princes,  princessi  s.  gramlet-s  of  all  grades,  generals  ami 
statesmen.  They  are  mostly  historical.  Spanish  sce>  ery.  climate. 
customs  and  manners-  are  described  with  scrupulous  fidelity.  To 
read  the  hook  is  like  living  in  Spain  ()unng  the  eventful  era  to  which 
the  story  is  confined  As  the  Spanish  peninsula  is  but  little  visited  by 
American  tourists  and  as  the  '  Court  of  C'harles  IV  .'  with  its  ambi 
tions  and  intrigm--.  ^  :i  subject  quite  fresh  to  novelists,  it  follows 
that  the  present  u  ,rk  will  be  eagt-rlv  bought  and  greatly  enjoyed  by 
all  who  love  to  explore  new  fields."—  The  'Journal  of  Comment, 


A  BOOK  ABOUT  ROSES.  —  ffffw  to  Grmv  and  Shmo 
Them!  By  S.  Reynolds  Hole,  in  one  volume.  Paper, 
50  cts.  Cloth,  90  cts. 


"There  is  a  June  fragrance  about  this  little  book  that  is  par- 
ticularly refreshing,  now  that  we  are  on  the  edge  —  very  ragged 
•edge,  to  be  sure  —  of  summer.  They  say  the  flowers  know  those 
who  love  them,  and  come  forth  only  at  their  bidding.  If  this  be 
so,  surely  Mr.  Hole  should  be  a  successful  cultivator,  as  he  is  cer- 
tainly an  entertaining  writer  on  a  subject  in  which  he  has  long 
been  a  recognized  authority.  This  is  the  seventh  edition  of  his 
'  Book  About  Roses  '  that  has  been  called  for,  and  in  responding 
to  the  demand  the  happy  author  contributes  some  of  the  latest  re- 
sults of  his  experience,  which  will  be  gratefully  received  by  all 
rosarians.  Mr.  Hole  is  an  enthusiast,  and  he  communicates  much 
of  that  quality  to  his  pages.  It  is  impossible  to  read  long  in  this 
charming  volume  without  becoming  impressed  with  a  profound 
conviction  that  a  rose  is  the  most  perfect  thing  in  creation.  Aside 
from  its  value  as  a  guide  to  cultivators,  whether  professional  or 
amateur,  the  work  possesses  a  rare  fascination,  that  partly  belongs 
to  the  subject  and  partly  to  its  happy  manner  of  treatment.  There 
is  a  vein  of  playful  humor  in  Mr.  Hole's  writing  that  rarely  de- 
generates into  flippancy,  and  occasionally  a  little  flight  of  senti- 
mentalism  that  accords  well  with  his  theme,  mingling  agreeably 
enough  with  the  purely  scientific  disquisitions  like  a  wholesome 
perfume,  which  is  happily  not  a  hot-house,  but  an  out-of-door  one. 
We  cordially  commend  this  book  to  all  who  are  interested  in  the 
cultivation  of  the  queen  ot  flowers." — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

HENRY  IRVING.  A  short  account  of  his  public  life. 
Paper,  with  frontispiece,  50  cts.  Cloth,  with  four  illustrations. 
$1.25. 


"A  little  volume  that  will  prove  very  attractive,  apropos  of  the 
•visit  of  Mr.  Irving  to  this  country.  \\  e  refer  to  a  '  Life'  of  Mr. 
Irving,  the  authorship  of  which  is  not  acknowledged,  but  which 
brims  with  fact,  anecdote,  and  criticism  that  most  people  will  be 
glad  to  read.  There  are  portions  of  this  biography  which  evince 
unusual  ability  on  the  part  of  the  author.  The  criticism  is  not  by 
any  means  always  his  own,  some  of  the  best  London  dailies  and 
weeklies  being  drawn  upon.  The  book  tells  all  about  Mr.  Irving 
that  one  wants  to  know,  and  nothing  of  which  one  would  prefer 
to  be  ignorant."— N.  Y.  Evening  Telegram. 


ASP  ASIA. —  A  Romance,  l.y  Ifolx-rt   ilaiiirrling.  from 
the  German  by  Mary  J.  Safford,  in  two  vols.     Paper,  $1.00. 

Cloth,  $1.75. 

"  We  have  read  his  work  conscientiously,  and,  we  confess,  with 
profit.  Never  have  we  had  so  clear  an  insight  into  the  manners, 
thoughts,  and  feelings  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  No  study  has  made 
us  so  familiar  with  the  age  of  Pericles.  \Ve  recognize  throughout 
that  the  author  is  master  of  the  period  of  which  he  treats.  More- 
over, looking  hack  upon  the  work  from  the  end  to  the  beginning, 
we  clearly  perceive  in  it  a  complete  unity  of  purpose  not  at  all 
evident  during  the  reading." 

"  Hamerling's  Aspasia,  herself  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
all  Hellas,  is  the  apostle  of  beauty  and  of  joyousness,  the  im- 
placable enemy  of  all  that  is  stern  and  harsh  in  life.  Unfortunately, 
morality  is  stern,  and  had  no  place  among  Aspasia's  doctrines. 
This  ugly  fact,  Landor  has  thrust  as  far  into  the  background  as 
possible.  Hamerling  obtrudes  it.  He  does  not  moralize,  he 
neither  condemns  nor  praises  ;  but  like  a  fate,  silent,  passionless, 
and  resistless,  he  carries  the  story  along,  allows  the  sunshine  for 
a  time  to  silver  the  turbid  stream,  the  butterflies  and  gnats  to  flut- 
ter above  it  in  rainbow  tints,  and  then  remorselessly  draws  over 
the  landscape  gray  twilight.  He  but  follows  the  course  of 
history;  yet  the  absolute  pitilessness  with  which  he  does  it  is 
almost  terrible." — Extracts  from  Review  in  Yale  Literary 
Magazine. 

"  No  more  beautiful  chapter  can  be  found  in  any  book  of  this 
age  than  that  in  which  Pericles  and  Aspasia  are  described  as  visit- 
ing the  poet  Sophocles  in  the  garden  on  the  bank  of  the  Cephis- 
sus." —  Utica  Morning  Herald. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  great  excellencies  of  this  romance,  this  lofty 
song  of  the  genius  of  the  Greeks,  that  it  is  composed  with  perfect 
artistic  symmetry  in  the  treatment  of  thf  different  parts,  and  from 
the  first  word  to  the  last  is  thoroughly  harmonious  in  tone  and 
coloring.  Therefore,  in  'Aspasia,'  we  are  given  a  book,  which 
could  only  proceed  from  the  union  of  an  artistic  nature  and  a 
thoughtful  mind  —  a  book  that  does  not  depict  fiery  passions  in 
dramatic  conflict,  but  with  dignified  composure,  leads  the  conflict 
therein  described  to  the  final  catastrophe."  —  Allgemfitf  Zfitung. 
(Augsburg;. 


ERNESTINE.  — A  Novel,  by  Wilheliniue  YOU  Hill- 
em,  from  the  German  by  S.  Baring-Gould,  in  two  vols. 
Paper,  Sects.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  'Ernestine'  is  a  work  of  positive  genius.  An  English  critic 
has  likened  the  conception  of  the  heroine  in  her  childhood  to 
George  Eliot's  Maggie  Tulliver,  and  truly  there  is  a  certain  resem- 
blance ;  but  there  is  in  the  piece  a  much  stronger  suggestion  of 
George  Eliot's  calm  mastery  of  the  secret  springs  of  human 
action,  and  George  Eliot's  gift  of  laying  bare  the  life  of  a  human 
soul,  than  of  likeness  between  particular  characters  or  situations 
here  and  these  with  which  we  are  familiar  in  George  Eliot's 
works." — Nnu  York  Evening  Post. 

THE    HOUR    WILL   COME.  — A    Tale   of  an   Alpine 

Cloister,  by  Wilhelmine  VOll  Hilleril,  from  the  Ger- 
man by  Clara  Bell,  in  one  vol.     Paper,  40  cts.    Cloth,  75  cts. 

'"Tke  Hour  Will  Come'1  is  the  title  of  a  translation  by 
Clara  Bell  from  the  German  original  of  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern, 
author  of  that  beautiful  romance  '  Geier-Wally.'  'The  Hour 
Will  Come'  is  hardly  less  interesting,  its  plot  being  one  of  the 
strongest  and  most  pathetic  that  could  well  be  imagined.  The  time 
is  the  Middle  Ages,  and  Frau  von  Hillern  has  achieved  a  remark- 
able success  in  reproducing  the  rudeness,  the  picturesqueness  and 
the  sombre  coloring  of  those  days.  Those  who  take  up  'The 
Hour  Will  Come'  will  not  care  to  lay  it  down  again  until  they 
have  read  it  through." — Baltimore  Gazette. 

HIGHER  THAjfTHE^HURCH.  — An  Art  Legend 
of  Ancient  Times,  by  Willielniilie  von  Hilleril,  from 
the  German  by  Mary  }.  Safford,  in  one  vol.  Paper,  25  cts. 
Cloth,  50  cts. 

"  Mary  J.  Safford  translates  acceptably  a  very  charming  short 
story  from  the  German  of  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern.  If  it  was  not 
told  by  the  sacristan  of  Breisach,  it  deserves  to  have  been.  It  has 
the  full  flavor  of  old  German  and  English  love  tales,  such  as  have 
been  crystallized  in  the  old  ballads.  The  Emperor,  the  gifted 
boy,  his  struggles  with  the  stupidity  of  his  townsmen,  his  ap- 
parently hopeless  love  above  him ;  these  form  the  old  delightful 
scene,  set  in  a  Dureresque  border.  There  are  touches  here  and 
there  which  refer  to  the  present.  The  sixteenth  century  tale  has 
a  political  moral  that  will  appeal  to  Germans  who  believe  that 
Alsatia,  once  German  in  heart  as  well  as  in  tongue,  ought  to  be 
held  by  force  to  the  Fatherland  till  she  forgets  her  beloved 
France."— N.  Y.  Times. 


